


I Thee Loathe

by reymanova (costiellie)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, TFSN Rom Com Challenge, princess diaries 2 au, rated g but with some minor swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/costiellie/pseuds/reymanova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Fitzsimmons Princess Diaries 2 AU that I always wanted, but never existed. So I wrote it.</p><p>Written for the Fitzsimmons Network Rom Com Challenge, and for Engineering vs. Biochem (go Team Engineering!)</p><p>Beta'd by the inimitable Racquel (ughfitz).</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fitzsimmons Princess Diaries 2 AU that I always wanted, but never existed. So I wrote it.
> 
> Written for the Fitzsimmons Network Rom Com Challenge, and for Engineering vs. Biochem (go Team Engineering!)
> 
> Beta'd by the inimitable Racquel (ughfitz).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: Yes, this fic includes Will Daniels. Given the nature of the source material, there is absolutely no way I would’ve been able to even stay remotely true to story without him. But I’m not here to bash Will or to praise Will or anything in between, although I tried to be as fair to him as possible. This is, as usual, ultimately a Fitzsimmons fic.
> 
> If you still don’t like that, that’s fine — don’t read this. But like, please don’t hate me.

“Honestly, Jemma, I’m in shock that you had two PhDs by 17 but it still took you a whole 4 years to get this degree. You’re slipping in your old age,” Skye said, popping a pretzel in her mouth and reclining back in her velvet-upholstered seat.

Jemma just rolled her eyes. “To be fair, biochem comes far more naturally to me than poli-sci does.”

“And yet you still managed to come out at the top of your class.” Skye smirked, a familiar glint in her eyes. “Although political science does include the word ‘science’ — it _should_ be right up your alley.”

“If you keep talking like that, I will have them turn this plane around and bring you right back to Princeton,” Jemma retorted, laughing, “I can do that, you know.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I offer my sincerest apologi—oh my god,” Skye breathed, interrupting her teasing as the plane descended below the clouds and she caught her first glimpses of Genovia. “That… that is gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it?” Jemma asked, eyes wandering over the now-familiar rolling mountains, clear rivers snaking through the valleys. “And that,” she added, leaning across Skye to point out the window at the golden brown structure in this distance, “is where we’re staying.”

“We’re staying _there_? All summer?” Skye asked, dumbfounded. She continued to stare as the plane drew nearer, mouth gaping as she took it all in. “Jemma, that is a castle. That is a real-life castle.”

“Technically, it’s a palace.” Jemma smiled. “But it’s quite the step up from your van, is it not?”

“Private jet, huge palace – and I thought it was nice of you to let me crash in your apartment from time to time. Holy shit, Jemma, this is a whole new level.”

“Well, I figured there’s no point in having a private jet and a palace if you can’t share it with your best friend, yeah?” Jemma asked, sitting back in her seat as the plane approached the runway. “And it won’t be all fun and games. You know I love May, but she can be a bit… strict.”

“She’s some crazy Genovian war hero, right? Single-handedly took out an enemy force and ended some huge war, or something like that?”

“Yeah.” Jemma glanced around as if checking to see that no one was listening and then dropped to a whisper. “The Cavalry, they call her. But don’t _ever_ say that to her face. I don’t even want to know what she’d do if you did that.” Jemma shuddered.

“O-kay, then,” Skye said, hands up in a placating gesture. “Never mention the Cavalry in front of the queen, got it.”

The plane touched down, and the two girls sat in silence, merely looking out the window as it taxied down the runway. Finally, Jemma spoke up again. “May’s really quite wonderful, though. And Agent Coulson — the head of security and May’s bodyguard, not that she needs one, honestly — tends to even her out quite well. They keep each other in check.” The plane finally came to a stop and the two stood to gather their things.

“Is that all they do? Because from the way you’ve talked about the two of them, well, it seems like they might also do other… things,” Skye said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she zipped up her laptop bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Well, from what I hear they’ve always been quite close, but especially since King Andrew died… you know what, Skye, I don’t want to think about that. May might be my long-lost aunt, but she is still my aunt, and just — blegh. To be fair, though, May takes her job seriously, and so does Coulson. Even if there is something between them, I highly doubt they’re doing, you know… that.”

Laughing, Skye followed Jemma’s lead as they made their way to the front of the plane. “Alright, Miss Johnson,” Jemma announced, grabbing Skye’s hand and squeezing it as they paused before the door which would lead them to the ground, “are you ready for a summer of royalty?”

“Am I ever,” Skye responded, squeezing back.

“In that case,” Jemma grinned, letting go and using her free hand to gesture to the flight attendant that they were ready to disembark, “Welcome to Genovia.”


	2. Chapter 1

“So, let me get this straight,” Skye mused, swirling her champagne flute and watching from her perch on the bed as Jemma put the final touches on her makeup. “You turned 21 like, months ago, but because you haven’t been to Genovia since then, they’re just having a super belated birthday party for you now?”

“Yes. It’s Genovian tradition, apparently, that every heir to the throne has a 21st birthday party at which they dance with every eligible bachelor or bachelorette for the Genovian crown. Frankly, I just find it stressful, but tradition is tradition, I suppose. Can you do my setting spray?”

“Wait – every bachelor _and_ every bachelorette?” Skye hopped off the bed and took the bottle from Jemma, spritzing her face.

“Oh, no, unfortunately not. Since I’m female — blegh, Skye, not in my mouth, that’s plenty, thank you. Since I’m female, just every bachelor. Genovia is a wonderful country, but it is not nearly that progressive.”

“Damn.”

Just then they heard a knock at the door. Jemma called out that the door was open, and momentarily Coulson entered. “They’re ready for you downstairs, Princess Jemma.”

“Thank you, Coulson. I’ll be out in a moment.”

He nodded and was turning to leave when Skye called out, “Hey, nice tux, Phil.”

The look on Coulson’s face was stern, if not slightly impressed by her audacity. “I’d prefer you not call me that.”

“Okay.” Skye smirked. “You’re the boss… AC.”

“Just knock on the door when you’re ready to go, Jemma — I can escort you down,” Coulson said, pointedly ignoring Skye’s comment. Again, he was halfway out the door when he finally appeared to register what Skye was holding. “Wait, where did you get that champagne? That flute is ballroom-only. You shouldn’t be able to have it up here.”

“Oh, a server was walking past with a tray and I just nicked one. Listen, AC, if you guys are gonna have all this fancy alcohol sitting around I’m going to take as much advantage of it as possible.”

“Right, then,” Jemma said, cutting off whatever Coulson was going to say next and standing up from her vanity. She checked her hair in the mirror one last time before turning to the two in her room. “Shall we?”

 

 

No fewer than ten minutes later, Jemma was weaving her way through the throng of royals and dignitaries on the lookout for Skye, who had disappeared a few minutes earlier, babbling on about a royal guard who was apparently “the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.” Jemma liked to imagine she was floating across the floor like the ladies in the old-fashioned films she often dragged Skye into watching — hell, she’d even settle for gliding — but in reality, her red strapless dress, no matter how beautiful, was making it very hard to breathe. She was quickly realizing that going braless underneath had been a very, very bad idea.

She was trying to adjust the bodice discreetly — good gracious, she’d thought that at least the royals would have the art of keeping a strapless dress in place down to a T, but apparently even they hadn’t figured it out yet — when a tap on her shoulder startled Jemma out of her reverie, a voice asking, “Have you tried using gaffer’s tape?”

Jemma whipped around, heat rising in her cheeks at being caught adjusting her _breasts_ , of all things, when she caught sight of and suddenly recognized who had just accosted her. “Princess Barbara Morse?”

“That’s me,” the taller woman said with a mock salute before leaning in for a hug. “And I told you to call me Bobbi, remember?”

“Bobbi, right. I haven’t seen you since when, before I left for Princeton? At Princess Raina’s—”

“—trainwreck of a birthday party, yes,” Bobbi finished, smiling. She fell into step with Jemma and they zigzagged across the room, continuing their conversation.

“I still can’t believe she invited those military men.” Jemma scoffed as she remembered the night. “I’m sure they’re normally quite wonderful, but put a bunch of them in a room full of princesses and you can never expect things to go well.”

“Actually,” Bobbi said sheepishly — which in and of itself was startling, as the pair weren’t yet _overly_ well acquainted, but Jemma still knew full well that Princess Bobbi was not a woman to be described as sheepish — “do you remember Lance Hunter? Brown hair, about my height, S.A.S.? ”

Jemma turned to look back at Bobbi and after seeing the woman’s expression, her jaw dropped. “Do you mean to say that you and _Lance Hunter_ — uhmpf!” She was stopped in her tracks as she collided with one of the party’s tuxedoed guests, accidentally stomping on his freshly shined shoe and sending a shoulder into his gut as she toppled. She only just caught herself from faceplanting by taking the man’s arms in her own.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she began as she looked up, “your foot, I’m sure I can — oh.” Jemma momentarily forgot her train of thought as she found herself looking into the bluest eyes she was quite certain she had ever seen in her entire pasty life.

The two of them stood there frozen for a moment, both unsure how to proceed, before Jemma was finally brought back to her senses. She was child prodigy, for goodness’ sake, and Doctor Doctor Jemma Simmons couldn’t let a pair of blue eyes, tantalizingly gorgeous as they may be, distract her from the business at hand. “Are you alright?” she asked politely.

“Oh, yes I’m… quite fine, Your Highness.” Jemma was taken aback at the sound of his distinctly Scottish brogue, and as she took a moment to study his face, she realized that there was something vaguely familiar about it that she couldn’t quite place. He couldn’t have been far from her own age – had she met him at a royal event before? “The fault was all my own,” he continued, “Fitz was a klutz again.”

In a split second, the pieces fell into place – the accent, the familiarity of his face, the name Fitz. “Fitz?” Jemma asked, smile growing and suddenly even more enthralled by this man than she had been just a moment before. “As in Doctor Fitz? You wrote your dissertation at MIT on _Non-Lethal Weaponry and its—_ “

“ _—Possible Future in an Ever-Changing Violent World_ , yeah.” Fitz smiled, and Jemma decided that that smile was her new favorite thing, and she wanted to keep seeing it. “People don’t generally know much about my research.”

“Oh no, I think it’s fascinating,” Jemma gushed, “I know the gun designs were still for the most part hypothetical, but with the right biochemical components I really think they could work. Do you think–“

“Ahem,” interrupted a boyish, pre-pubescent voice, “I do believe it is my turn to dance with the princess now?”

Annoyed at the intrusion, Jemma turned to the source of the voice to discover a boy who couldn’t have been older than twelve and who was no less than a foot shorter than Jemma, holding out his arm. “Donnie,” Jemma began as politely as she could muster, “hello.”

“I’ll let you two be, then,” Fitz said, stepping away with a brief bow. “I imagine you still have quite a bit of dancing to do, Princess Jemma.” She watched as he melted into the crowd, sighing as she looked back down at Donnie and begrudgingly taking the boy’s arm as she allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.

 

 

It had been well over an hour and Jemma needed a drink. Or several. She was still dancing with various eligible bachelors, and much to her dismay, all of them thus far either didn’t speak English, were more than ten years apart from her in age, or were frankly atrocious dancers. As far as birthday parties went, Jemma did not consider this her best (although it was, by far, the most luxurious.)

At the moment she was locked in a particularly aggressive waltz with one Prince Sunil. He was one of the more skilled dancers, if Jemma was honest, but if his death grip on her waist or his overzealous use of the word “compliance” weren’t enough, his roaming eyes and smarmy smile made Jemma want to bolt. She frantically searched the room for someone to help her out of the situation, but as she scanned the room neither Skye nor Bobbi were anywhere to be found.

Just as she had begun wracking her brain for a well-constructed lie she could fabricate in order to get out (how had she not prepared for this very situation?), she and Sunil were brought to a halt as a gloved hand came to rest on Sunil’s shoulder. Blue eyes met hers as the owner of the hand asked, “May I?”

“Fitz,” Jemma smiled, extracting herself from Sunil’s grasp and resting her hand on Fitz’s shoulder as they began a (much less aggressive) waltz of their own, “your timing is impeccable. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness,” Fitz responds.

“Jemma,” she blurted out. “I’d… like to be called Jemma. Or Simmons, if you’d prefer. Or Jemma Simmons, or, well, just not ‘Your Highness.’ It still feels a bit weird, you know, and – oh my, I’m rambling aren’t I? I’m definitely rambling.” _Dammit, Jemma. You have more college degrees than anyone else in this room – you can keep your cool in front of a stupid boy with dreamy eyes. Well, actually a very smart boy. Potentially genius boy. With dreamy eyes._ She took a breath and collected her thoughts, bringing herself back to the topic at hand. “And I should call you…?”

“Fitz,” he responds, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Just Fitz.”

“Alright then, Just Fitz. I’ve got a whole list of questions for you about your dissertation, so where would you like to start?”


	3. Chapter 2

“I can’t believe May had an entire lab built for you,” Skye said, turning in a circle and soaking in the huge room’s pristine counters and fully-stocked shelves. “I mean, I know she’s your aunt, but she doesn’t seem like the most loving person in the world. From what I’d heard about her, I half-expected her to make us sleep on concrete slabs.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “It’s not like she’s totally emotionless, Skye, she’s just stoic, is all. But,” she added, looking around the brand-new space as Skye plopped into a desk chair and spun herself around, “she did go above and beyond with this, didn’t she? I mean, I knew we was having a lab built, but I had no idea it would look like this.”

“Jemma, you have maids. We may think this is crazy fancy and crazy expensive, but to the royals, this is probably nothing.”

“I suppose.”

“Speaking of royals,” Skye said conspiratorially, “what about that Fitz I saw you with at your party, huh? You were dancing with him for like, forever. He didn’t seem bulky enough to be your usual type, but Bobbi said you two were talking science, so give me the dish on this guy.”

“Oh, you’ve met Bobbi?” Jemma asked, perking up.

“Yes. Now stop changing the subject,” Skye said, eyes narrowing. “Tell me about Fitz.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jemma conceded, hands coming up to rest nervously at her neck. “Remember a few months ago, when I was talking about that dissertation I had read about non-lethal weaponry?”

“By the guy from MIT? I don’t recall you _talking_ about it, but I do remember you _obsessing_ about it for three weeks.”

“Well,” Jemma continued, disregarding Skye’s last few comments, “that was him. So we were talking about his designs.”

“For forty-five minutes?” Skye asked skeptically. “I didn’t realize anyone other than you could talk about one dissertation for that long.”

“It was not _orty-five minutes_ , Skye. It was ten minutes at most, before we got interrupted by Lord Ian. He’s almost as slimy as Prince Sunil, can you believe it?”

“Yeah, actually. But you’re not getting away from me that easily. If Lord Slimy hadn’t interrupted you, would you have _liked_ to talk to Fitz about his dissertation for forty-five minutes?”

“Of course! I have so many more questions for him. I’ve got a few suggestions for how to improve his prototypes, and really, I’ve never dreamed of working with someone as smart as him — I mean, he’s a proper genius.“

Skye raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow.”

“What?” Jemma asked, brow furrowed.

“I just… you, Jemma Simmons, just referred to someone as a genius. I’m fairly certain the only other person I’ve ever heard you call a genius is yourself.”

“He was able to keep up with all my questions, _and_ he asked me some of his own, Skye. He’s got a PhD, was top of his class at MIT, and he can’t be much older than I am — genius is the only logical conclusion.”

Skye smiled in a way that can only be described as knowing (although _what_ she thought she thought was knowing, Jemma couldn’t fathom.) “Hm. Interesting. You have two PhDs, though.”

“Oh, Skye, don’t be foolish. I said he was a genius, not that he was smarter than me. We may both be geniuses, but I’m still smarter.” She paused. “To be fair, though, I imagine most royals don’t have much time to be going out and getting more than one PhD, especially if it’s not in a political discipline.”

“What makes him an eligible bachelor, by the way? I’d never heard of him before — is he a duke of some place, or something?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I didn’t ask.”

“Too busy seducing him with science, were you?” Skye asked playfully.

Suddenly abashed, Jemma quickly answered, “No, Skye, I — no. I wasn’t—“ she dropped her voice to a whisper, “— _seducing him_ , I was having a professional conversation with a fellow scientist,” she finished, volume raising as she finished her sentence.

“Whilst dancing with him? At your birthday party? Knowing full well he was an eligible bachelor?”

Jemma raised her chin and nodded purposefully. “Yes. It was purely professional, Skye. And anyway, he very kindly rescued me from being manhandled by Prince Sunil, from whom I was hoping _you_ would rescue me, but you had disappeared off chasing some boy.”

Now it was Skye who was abashed, smiling apologetically. “Oops.”

“If you’re going to be abandoning me to go flirt with a royal guard, I at least want to hear about it, hm?”

Skye’s smile widened. “His name is Antoine Triplett.”

“Ooh,” Jemma gushed, “ _Antoine_.”

“I know. Such a regal name, isn’t it? I mean, he’s not actually royal, and he goes by Trip, but still. He’s charming and funny and he told me he wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to partygoers on duty, but he talked to me anyway. _And_ he has amazing arms.”

“Wasn’t he wearing his uniform? Those things are quite stiff. How could you tell?”

“This is the sort of thing you can just tell by looking at someone, Jemma. If you’d seen him, you would’ve said the same thing.” Jemma looked back at Skye, her eyes were lit up and a wide smile lit up her face in a way that she hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Sure, Skye had had some flings recently, but the usually guy-crazy Skye hadn’t been so enamored by someone since that nasty breakup with Grant a handful of months back. In that moment, Jemma decided she would do anything necessary to keep that look on her face, so she made a snap decision.

“If you want, I can ask Coulson to have him around more. So you can see him more often.”

Skye’s eyes widened. “I thought that was against your ‘moral code’, or whatever. To use your position to take advantage of other people.”

“Well,” Simmons smiled, “this is a good cause. I’m doing it for you, not for me.”

“Jemma Anne Simmons.” Skye sat up perfectly straight in the chair and looked Jemma seriously in the eyes. “I love you.”

 

 

Jemma meandered down the hallway as she sipped her tea, allowing herself to take in her surroundings as she explored the palace. She wasn’t sure where she was, exactly (had she taken a left at the bust of Queen Peggy or a right?), but for once she found that she didn’t mind. She’d stayed in the palace before, of course, but she’d never had the time to go too far beyond the east wing.

The building was truly beautiful, she mused, running her fingers along an intricately carved picture frame, if not a bit lavish — knowing May, she was surprised she stood for this sort of spending. It all looked quite old, though, Jemma realized, noting that the painting encased by the frame before her was dated 1888; she supposed most of the furniture and decorations in the building weren’t of May’s doing (although Jemma had an inkling that the hidden training room that she had run across this morning, complete with high-tech weightlifting apparatuses and punching bags, probably was.)

She continued walking and noticed a seemingly out-of-place spiral staircase set into the wall. “Hm,” she muttered, peering into it and seeing only darkness, “that’s strange.” Feeling adventurous, she made her way up the dusty stairs only to find herself in a room hardly lighter than the staircase. The wall directly across of her was lined with colorful stained-glass windows; in front of that appeared to be some sort of altar, with yet another bust mounted next to it (“How many of these things are there in this place?” Skye had exclaimed a few nights before on the discovery of a bust in her bathroom, “I swear to god there are more busts in this building than there are on women in all of Genovia.”)

Jemma couldn’t place the identity of this one, however, so she inched closer to it, wiping a bit of dust off the name placard as she tried to make out the lettering. _Stank_ , did that say? That couldn’t be right. She reached into her pocket to pull out her phone to use as a flashlight, but as she did so, it got caught. Jemma used her free hand to steady herself on the bust as she turned her upper body, contorting it so she could see what had happened.

With just a bit of pressure, however, the bust suddenly shifted under her hand and Jemma whipped around in a panic. She’d been in Genovia for less than a week, and this would be the third thing she’d broken — how on Earth would she explain _this one_ to May–

_Oh._

The wall beside her, which had previously seemed quite solid, started to shift, slowly swinging open with a creak. She hadn’t broken the bust when she’d pushed on it, Jemma realized — it was actually some sort of doorknob.

Sneaking a look into the passageway it revealed, Jemma made out a hallway characterized only by stone walls, uneven and undecorated, stretching as far as she could see (which was, admittedly, not very far.) It was a passage that Jemma was clearly not to be in, so she turned to leave. But as she began to shut the door, she heard a banging sound from somewhere within that stopped her in her tracks.

Jemma stuck her head back through the doorway and realized that there was a dim light a little ways away that she hadn’t noticed before. Torn, Jemma knew she shouldn’t be in here, but she also couldn’t deny that she was really quite curious. “Skye would kill me if I told her I found a secret passageway and then neglected to explore it,” she said aloud, talking herself through the situation in the way that had annoyed countless lab partners for years. “But then again, that’s Skye. Perhaps I could just not tell her.”

She paused. “Who am I kidding? I’m a horrible liar and we both know it. I’d never get away with that.” After moment of quiet, Jemma heard a cacophony of raised voices, although they were too far away for her to make out any words, before they were abruptly ceased by another banging noise. “What if someone is hurt? I should at least check. And perhaps… well,” Jemma said finally, making up her mind, “a little bit of bad girl shenanigans every once in a while won’t kill me.”

Treading carefully across the threshold and into the hallway, Jemma made her way towards the light, the voices getting louder as she went. Eventually she found herself turning down a second hallway, and as she rounded the corner, she saw that the source of the light was now directly in front of her. It was a metal grate, presumably acting as some sort of ventilation for the room on the other side.

Approaching the grate, Jemma was finally able to get a good look at the source of the light and sound. Peering in, she quickly realized with a shock that she was currently eavesdropping on a session of Parliament, May sitting sternly at the front of the room next to Prime Minister Fury as they and the other representatives watched a man pace the floor before them.

“So,” he announced grandiosely, clearly nearing the climax of his speech, “as of the nineteenth of August of last year, on the occasion of his twenty-first birthday, another Genovian of the royal bloodline became eligible to assume the throne.”

Jemma saw May’s eyes narrow. There was a beat of stillness in the room until Fury asked, drawling, “Excuse me, Senator Garrett?” It took all of Jemma’s self-restraint to stop her from exclaiming a rather off-color version of his question.

“My nephew, Lord Leopold,” this Garrett continued, somehow managing to give off the feeling that he was looking down on everyone, despite standing on the floor of a bowl-shaped room. “His father was my wife’s brother, who I believe you know to be of the royal line. I am pleased to say that Leopold is ready to take his place as Genovia’s rightful king.”

A murmur spread about the room, and to her credit, May only continued to stare Garrett down for several moments. Jemma, for her part, felt her blood boil, a great dislike for this Leopold already forming. The spell was broken when one of the senators asked tentatively, “But isn’t Princess Jemma first in line for the throne?”

“Well,” a commanding voice at the back of the room responded, “not yet.” Unlike most of the senators, who Jemma only ever met in passing, Jemma recognized this man as Senator Gonzalez. He was one of the most experienced and influential in Parliament, and as such, Jemma had met him on more than one occasion. “Genovian law states that the princess must marry before she can take the throne.”

“We have never enforced that law,” May said, finally breaking her silence. She sounded restrained, but Jemma knew her well enough to be able to hear the anger behind her calm façade. “With all due respect, this is the twenty-first century. If a king does not need to marry before he may take the throne, Jemma should not be treated any differently.”

“Genovia shall have no queen,” Gonzalez reiterated forcefully, “lest she be bound in matrimony.”

“Senator Gonzalez,” Fury started, but was interrupted immediately by the man in question.

“That has been the law of Genovia for the last 300 years. Princess Jemma is not qualified to rule because she is unmarried. And,” he added, albeit slightly less confidently when he caught sight of May’s harsh gaze, “forgive me, Your Majesty, but not all of us are so sure that the princess is the most suitable choice to govern our great nation.”

The room erupted into noise, each senator arguing with the man next to him. They only settled down when Prime Minister Fury’s voice echoed throughout the chamber: “Excuse me, Senators. I suggest this _honored body_ –“ Jemma could have sworn she heard a twinge of sarcasm “–allow Princess Jemma, say, one year, during which time she must marry, or she forfeits the throne of Genovia to young Lord Leopold.”

“I object!” cried Garrett, “I strongly object.”

A few senators started calling out numbers, suggesting various time frames for the marriage, but were interrupted when Gonzalez stood and loudly announced, “Thirty days! The princess will have thirty days with which to find a husband. If she neglects to do so, Lord Leopold will take the throne. Do any of my fellow senators object?” Several looked wary, but no one dared.

“In that case,” Garrett gloated, smiling, “Your Majesty, Prime Minister – I believe this session of Parliament is adjourned.”

 

 

“Thirty days!” Jemma exclaimed, agitatedly pacing as May looked on. “How am I supposed to find a husband in thirty days? It’s been years, and I still can’t find the right lab partner!” Jemma brought her hands to her neck in the nervous gesture that May had grown to know so well as she worked the situation out in her head.

“I mean, the only way to do that is if I have an arranged — oh no. I’m going to have to have an arranged marriage, just because I’m female. That’s horrible. Who would agree to…” she trailed off as she noticed May shift her gaze to the wall they stood next to. The white marble stretched all the way across the room; at the top it read _Wall of Valor_. On it was mounted the portraits of all of the royals in the last one hundred years who had lost their lives fighting for Genovia. Jemma followed May’s eyes until her own landed on the portrait of King Andrew, and the realization dawned on her.

She shifted around awkwardly, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “…You agreed to an arranged marriage. Right.”

May nodded. “I did. And it turned out quite well. We were good partners, and we grew quite fond of each other.”

Jemma scoffed. “ _Fond_.”

May just shrugged. “I chose to serve my country, so that was enough for me. Even after the war in Bahrain, when things fell apart.” 

“Duty over love?” Jemma clarified, thinking of how close May was with Coulson. She couldn’t imagine May acting that way with anyone else, at least not as Jemma knew her now.

“Duty over love.”

Jemma pondered this idea for a moment. “I’m not much of a romantic. Never have been. My policy in life, up until now, has always been to put my career before my love life. And just because my career is unexpectedly changing, that doesn’t mean – well, I don’t want that to mean that my personal policies have to, too. I don’t want to do something because I feel like I have to and then regret it.”

“I can understand that. I’ve got my own fair share of regrets. After…” She hesitated for a moment, seeming to wage an internal war with herself as to whether she should finish that thought, but then seemed to think better of it, shaking her head. “Of course I want you to be queen, Jemma. You would make a good one. I know how much you love science, but I really believe this is the right place for you. However,” May said as she stepped forward to place a hand on Jemma’s shoulder, “you don’t _have_ to do this. You know that. If this marriage doesn’t feel like the right decision for you, don’t do it.”

Jemma scanned the Wall of Valor until her eyes rested on the portrait of one John Simmons. It’d been years since she’d last seen him, and it had struck her only recently how alike they looked. She studied the picture, searching his eyes and perhaps naively looking for some sort of answer in them.

“My father once told me,” Jemma began slowly, “that marriage is about being yourself, only with someone else. I didn’t know what he meant at the time nor did I frankly care, as I was a child and just wanted to do more science experiments with the bucket of worms that I had brought in from the backyard, much to mum’s dismay,” she added, laughing, as she let her eyes roam the wall before her. “Although she did eventually come around.

“I’ve always been a bit of an odd bird.” At May’s eyebrow raise, Jemma scoffed and went on, “I am a certified genius, it’s not like I haven’t noticed. Very few people have ever stuck around with me. An arranged marriage could very well crash and burn.

“But,” she continued, her posture straightening and chin jutting up, “I consider it my duty to make a difference in the world when I can, even if the route I take to do so is perhaps not the route I’d always imagined. I may not have been raised here, but my loyalties are with Genovia. …And science,” she added as an afterthought. She finally looked back at May, smiling. “I _will_ be queen of Genovia.”


	4. Chapter 3

“You, my boy,” Garrett said, standing before Fitz’s lab table in a silk robe as he sipped his whiskey, “a true born Genovian — you should be our king.”

“I agree,” Fitz responded, still fiddling with the DWARF in front of him, vaguely annoyed by his uncle’s interrupting his work. “But I have no idea how you plan on achieving that. Queen May is, well, May.”

“First of all—“ Garrett snatched the small piece of mechanics out of Fitz’s hand, “—you need to stop spending so much time on all these silly science projects. You’ll recall that I generously allowed you to get your PhD, because I love you, but only as a _side project_.”

“No,” Fitz said, finally turning his focus to Garrett, “you did that because it was my mother’s dying wish.”

“And it was your _father’s_ dying wish that you become king, son.” Garrett started to throw the little metal piece from hand to hand, and Fitz snatched it out of his hands.

“Don’t call me son,” Fitz mumbled. “And be careful with that! It’s quite fragile. What did I say about touching my things?”

Garrett ignored Fitz, instead moseying over to the dartboard that had once been Fitz’s fathers’, plucking a dart from the bull’s-eye. Fitz had never been athletically inclined, but his father had been an avid and talented darts player, and started Fitz out young. Once the boy had figured out that all it was was physics, he improved with such speed that he had given his father a run for his money.

Fitz sighed, finally giving in to Garrett’s silent prompt. “Stealing the crown, then. What did you have in mind? You know Princess Jemma will accept an arranged marriage if she has to. We can’t rely on her failing in that respect, but I can’t figure any way we can do this otherwise.”

“Oh, I think you overestimate Miss Simmons.” Dart in hand, Garrett stepped away from the dart board. “Now I’m going to show you a trick I learned from an old Italian philosopher, Niccolo Machiavelli.”

“Uh, okay.”

He lined himself up to throw the dart and said, “I can make this dart hit the bull’s-eye every time.” Fitz merely raised an eyebrow. His uncle had never been particularly good at darts, and Fitz had no idea where he could possibly be going with this. He was shocked out of his reverie when Garrett cried, “HAHHHH!” as he ran to the dartboard. Now only a short distance away, the man carefully stuck the dart into the very center of the board. “See?”

“Yes,” Fitz said, unimpressed, “but that is cheating.”

Garrett only smiled and patted Fitz on the back. “You got it.”

 

 

Jemma was waiting in the grand entrance of the palace when May and Coulson walked in, talking in low voices. Upon noticing her, they quickly cut off the conversation, but Jemma had little time to dwell on that at the moment, as she was too busy bristling about the situation at hand.

“I cannot believe Parliament invited the man who is trying to steal the throne to stay here with us at the palace,” Jemma said. “In one of the nicest rooms, mind you!”

May raised an eyebrow. “Parliament didn’t invite him. I did,” she said nonchalantly, turning to walk towards the door, where a group of voices was approaching.

“What?” Jemma cried, chasing after her.

“I offered to have him put up in Vault D,” Coulson noted.

May ignored him. “If there’s any sabotage happening, I want it to be right under my nose.”

Jemma deflated. Of course May would do that, she realized. She almost definitely knew much more about this sort of thing than Jemma did. “Still, we’re only rewarding him for his behavior. I mean, he’s rude, he’s arrogant, self-centered…”

“Have you met him?” May asked.

“Well… no.”

“Neither have I, actually.”

“But he probably is, May!” Jemma said, “And he just decides that _now_ , of all times, he wants to be king?”

May gave her a look. “Be nice. Garrett is a snake, and Lord Leopold may very well be one as well, but as much as it pains me to say it, we need to get off on the right foot.”

Just then, Trip’s voice rang out in the foyer. “Announcing Senator Garrett and Lord Leopold.”

The doors swung open, and Garrett strode in, greeting the two of them with a sly smile. “Your Majesty. Your Highness.”

May nodded at him. “Garrett.” Jemma made brief eye contact and then looked pointedly away.

“May I introduce you to my nephew, Lord Leopold Fitz.” Upon hearing his full name, Jemma snapped her attention to the man in question, and to her horror, she found herself looking into the same damningly blue eyes which she had looked into only a few days prior at her birthday party.

May nodded at him, and as he spoke, his accent ruined any last fleeting hope that this Fitz was not _her_ Fitz, her MIT thesis Fitz, her genius and frankly good dancer Fitz. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for inviting me to stay at the palace.” Fitz met Jemma’s eyes. “I hear you have quite the impressive lab.”

Incensed, Jemma averted her gaze, looking anywhere but this man’s — _traitor’s _— face as May introduced her. “Your Highness,” Fitz greeted, bowing slightly.__

__Jemma knew she was being horribly impolite, but in her shock and agitation, she failed to respond. It was only when she caught sight of May’s severe gaze that she looked up at the man and put on a face that was the best imitation of pleasant that she could muster at the present moment._ _

__“Doctor Fitz. I was unaware you were of royal blood. I’m sure I had never seen your first name on any of your scientific publications, so I didn’t realize Leopold was you.”_ _

__“You can imagine why I wouldn’t like being called Leopold.”_ _

__“Well, _Lord Leopold_ ,” Jemma snarled, something inside her breaking. She promptly picked up her heeled foot, stomping purposefully on his perfectly shined shoe._ _

__The next few moments were a blur for Jemma as she heard Fitz cry out and then wave off the maids who came rushing to his side — “She always does that,” he chuckled good-naturedly, his smile resembling more of a grimace — followed by several people apologizing profusely on her behalf as she was led off by Coulson’s assistant, Mack, who clutched tightly to her arm._ _

__“An accident,” she heard Coulson tell Garrett sternly as she glanced back one last time at the scene._ _

__Garrett stared him down for a moment, and then finally acquiesced. “Of course. She was… training to be a flamenco dancer.”_ _

__

__

__Jemma was already laying on her bed eating ice cream with Skye when May walked in, took one look at Jemma, and said simply, “Explain.”_ _

__“I’m sorry, May,” Jemma said, sitting up. “As it turns out, I have met Lord Leopold. At the ball. But I recognized him as Dr. Fitz, who actually has quite the impressive track record in the world of engineering. I had read his dissertation from MIT and it was fascinating and I wanted to talk to him more about it. So we… danced.”_ _

__“They flirted,” Skye added unhelpfully, sticking her spoon into Jemma’s pint of ice cream and stealing a bite._ _

__“I did not—“ Jemma began, but she was interrupted by Skye’s disbelieving look. “Okay, fine. I might’ve flirted. A little. But I didn’t know Dr. Fitz and Lord Leopold were the same person! I hadn’t even heard the name Lord Leopold yet. And given the fact that I didn’t know, you can’t blame me for taking an interest in him.” Skye and May exchanged a meaningful look as Jemma continued to ramble, completely oblivious of their silent communication. “Really, you should see his work with non-lethal weaponry. His designs really are avant-garde, and impressive at that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The dendrotoxin needs some work, as he’s clearly not a chemistry expert, and the name is absolutely horrible. Night-Night Gun, honestly? But—“ she cut herself off, bringing her hands up to her neck. “ _But_ he’s trying to steal the throne. So I stomped on his foot. It was a momentary lapse in judgment, but I don’t regret it.”_ _

__“I’m still shocked that you, Jemma Simmons, failed to ask him what made him an eligible bachelor,” Skye said._ _

__“His accent is Scottish! It never occurred to me that he might be of the Genovian line!”_ _

__The two girls looked at May expectantly, waiting for answers. She rolled her eyes. “I looked it up. Apparently he was born in Genovia, but when his father died, his mother brought him back to her home of Scotland. When she died, Leopold–“_ _

__“Fitz,” Jemma corrected, unthinking._ _

__May raised an eyebrow and Jemma blushed, realizing what she’d said. “When she died, _Fitz_ came back to Genovia to stay with his Uncle Garrett. He left briefly to get his PhD at MIT, but has been in Genovia ever since.”_ _

__“Wait,” Skye said, “if you’re both of the Genovian line, are you two related? Did you like, flirt with your cousin or something?”_ _

__Jemma put her head in her hands, not wanting to think about that matter, but May came to her rescue. “No. They came from opposite sides of the bloodline, and Fitz’s mother wasn’t even a royal, anyway.”_ _

__Skye looked impressed. “Controversial. That’s fun.”_ _

__“But that doesn’t matter, Skye, because _he’s trying to steal the throne_ ,” Jemma said._ _

__“Right,” Skye corrected herself. “He’s a piece of shit, I get it. A really smart piece of shit who could probably charm your pants off with science—“ she backpedals after seeing Jemma’s seething warning look, “—but a piece of shit nonetheless.”_ _

__May sighed, her face softening as she looked into the frazzled eyes of her young niece. “As a queen, I cannot condone this behavior. But as your aunt, I’ve taught you well.” She smirked and Jemma gave a weak half-smile in return. “But next time, try for the solar plexus.”_ _

__“Or the balls,” Skye supplemented. Jemma just groaned and took another bite of ice cream as she fell back onto the bed._ _


	5. Chapter 4

Jemma sat back in her chair, munching on popcorn as Coulson clicked through the slideshow of potential bachelors projected on the wall before them. They’d been in the darkened room for a good twenty minutes already, and both May and Coulson seemed intent on striking down every single one of the potential suitors for one reason or another. Jemma valued their opinions highly, but she was starting to get a bit frustrated, especially given the fact that Skye felt the need to give non-stop extensive commentary.

“Lincoln Campbell,” Coulson read aloud as they moved onto the next slide.

“Ooh, he’s cute,” Skye gushed.

May nodded. “I’ve met him. He’s a doctor.”

“A medical doctor?” Jemma asked, sitting up straighter.

“Yes,” Coulson said, “but I’m not sure how committed he is to politics. His heart doesn’t really seem to be in it.”

May pondered this for a moment. “Put him on the maybes list.” Jemma slouched back down.

“Next,” Coulson said, “Joey Gutierrez. No title but good family.”

“What about the title _husband_?” Skye asked approvingly.

“He does have quite the symmetrical face,” Jemma said, looking at Skye.

“Yeah, he’s cute.”

“His boyfriend thinks so, too,” May said.

“Damn,” Skye muttered.

“Let’s put them on all the invitation lists anyway,” Jemma said, feeling generous after having so many men shot down. “I feel like I would like him.”

“Fair enough,” Coulson said, writing a reminder down on his notes. “Next, Daniel Whitehall.”

“Ugh, no, too old,” Skye said, and May nodded in agreement.

Coulson moved onto the next slide. “Donnie Gill?”

“Oh, no,” Jemma said. “I suppose he’s quite nice, but he’s also ten years younger than me.”

“James Slade?” Coulson asks, but immediately moves onto the next slide. “Oh no, arrested too many times.”

“Ugh,” Jemma whined, putting her head in her hands. “This is never going to work.”

“What about him?” Skye asked, pointing at the screen with her head cocked to the side.

Jemma looked up. “Hm. William Daniels.”

“Ooh,” Skye said as she read his short biography, “He used to work for NASA. That’s like… that’s science, right?”

“Yes,” Jemma said, perking up. “That’s definitely science.”

“Top marks as an Air Force pilot,” Skye continued, “saved twelve civilian lives on a visit to Afghanistan. Loves cooking, amateur boxer, rides motorcycles, but still looks like the kind of guy you’d bring home to mom and dad.” Coulson clicked on his file, pulling up a folder of photographs and news clippings. “And oh _man_ , look at that bod.”

Jemma’s lips curled up in a smile. “I suppose he is quite well-formed. Symmetrical. And he looks nice. Coulson? May?”

Coulson squinted at the screen for a moment before finally giving an approving nod. May took a beat longer, but eventually she gave her consent. “Let’s meet him.”

 

 

It was Jemma’s fourth consecutive day of public outings with Will, their time together bogged down by paparazzi and video cameras and guards and maids. It was her third day of seeing Fitz hanging around she and Will’s dates, fiddling with his electronics, scribbling notes and drawing blueprints in a notebook, and very pointedly not making eye contact with her. It was Jemma and Will’s second successive day spent playing badminton on the palace lawns.

Jemma had nothing _against_ badminton, per se – it was Genovia’s national sport, after all – but she found that it didn’t exactly fall into her category of expertise. While Will was able to return every serve, she found herself lucky to send one in five back over the net.

So, when she reached a bit too high to return a pass and found herself toppling over backwards onto the grass, scratching her leg on her racket on the way down, she couldn’t say she was overly surprised. Her servants rushed forward to help her, but Skye held them back, stage whispering, “Let them bond!”

Jemma rolled her eyes, pulling herself up as Will arrived at her side. “You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, concerned. “Let me help you. I can get some gauze and some–”

“Oh no,” Jemma interrupted, brushing him off, “I hardly broke the surface – I need a bandage at most. I can handle it, really.”

“Okay, then. But at least let me hold your hand.”

Jemma began to brush this comment off as well – she wasn’t a child, she was the future Queen of Genovia – but stopped short upon seeing the glint in his eyes. Jemma smiled slowly and nudged his side. “If you must. I know how much you fear the sight of blood.”

 

 

After a whirlwind week of meeting and talking and wandering the grounds in an attempt to avoid the paparazzi which seemed to lurk outside every gate, Jemma and Will sat beneath one of Genovia’s famous pear trees, drinking wine and attempting to relax without being interrupted by the cameras showing up and ruining the moment.

“Every marriage in my family for the past 200 years has been arranged,” Will said. “I’ve always hated all the rules that go along with royal life, if I’m honest. I dreaded the day when my parents would tell me that it was time I got married. I thought that an arranged marriage would doom the adventure of my life. I think you know by now, I’m a bit of a pessimist.” Will’s lips quirked up in a smile and he rested his hand gently atop Jemma’s, his eyes softening. “But you… you’re the voice of hope. You make me think that maybe all this pomp and circumstance isn’t so bad after all.“

“I was worried about an arranged marriage as well,” Jemma admitted as she looked down at their now entwined hands. “But we do work together well. My optimism keeps your pessimism in check.”

“Exactly,” Will muttered, almost to himself, before reaching into his jacket pocket. “That’s why I got this for you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Jemma said, following his hand as he pulled out the offending item, but trailed off as she realized what it was. It was a small wooden box, old and weathered but beautiful and lined with gold. It had a hinge so that it could be opened, just about the perfect size for…

“It was my great-grandmother’s engagement ring,” Will supplemented as Jemma opened the box to discover the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever laid eyes on. “She and my great-grandfather were married for 57 years, so I thought it could be lucky for us.”

Jemma looked down at the ring in her hands and took a deep breath, before finally breaking the silence. “Do I have to put it on myself?”

Will smiled. “No, I could do that.” He took the ring from her and slid it gently onto her finger. “I suppose it’s done then.”

“I suppose it is.”

Suddenly a flash went off from somewhere behind them. Will groaned. “Those paparazzi are going to be the death of me.”

“Let’s go back inside,” Jemma suggested, “where they can’t get to us.” Will nodded his agreement and took Jemma’s hand. As they walked back, Jemma couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of this strange new part of her, this shiny diamond ring weighing down her finger and somehow throwing her carefully-structured life out of balance.


	6. Chapter 5

“Uncle, I hate to say this, but you were wrong. Princess Jemma has managed to find a husband within a week,” Fitz said, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge. “I told you we couldn’t rely on that stupid rule,” he muttered, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip.

“Jemma cannot possibly be happy with the idea of an arranged marriage,” Garrett said. “You said it yourself: she’ll accept one, but only if she has to. So your task, my boy, is to romance her.” Fitz spluttered and almost found himself the victim of a rather impressive spit take, dumping half of his water bottle on himself in surprise. Garrett forged on before Fitz recovered or had the chance to say anything. “Show her what a real relationship could be like. A relationship filled with heat and passion.”

Wiping fruitlessly at the water that was now seeping into his shirt, Fitz could only think of one response in his moment of shock: “So that she’ll change her mind about Will?”

“Exactly,” Garrett replied, spreading his arms, Fitz’s nervousness about the situation gone completely unnoticed. “And before they even know what’s hit them, the thirty-day deadline will expire, and the throne will be ours.”

Fitz considered this. All in all, he decided eventually, it was not a bad plan, but there was one flaw. It’s not like Fitz had never interacted with a woman – being Genovian royalty did tend to draw in a bit of attention. And it’s not like Fitz had never (to use Garrett’s terms) _romanced_ a woman – being a cocky bastard (not Fitz’s preferred term, but definitely the most common one used to describe him) may not make it easy to find a lab partner, but insofar it had given him a 100% success rate in finding a date.

The concern, then, that Fitz had was not with his capabilities, but with one Jemma Simmons. It’s not that the women that Fitz had been with before were stupid – in fact, many of them were quite smart – but to him, none of them were overly interesting. None of them could keep up with him, and no matter how beautiful, how titled, how nice, how funny they were, he never felt any desire to keep them around.

So, for better or for worse, Fitz had acquired a bit of a system. He’d invite a woman to a party, they’d drink, he’d impress her (if his looks and his title weren’t enough, there would undoubtedly be an opening to show how incredibly smart he was – it always dazzled), he’d take her home, she’d leave, and then he would never, ever call her. That’s how things worked.

But Jemma Simmons was not boring. Fitz had known her for short of a single minute before he had already decided that she was, in fact, the most interesting person he had ever met. Even in the years he spent getting his PhD at MIT, Fitz was quite certain he had never met someone as smart as Jemma Simmons. He wanted to impress her more than he had ever wanted to impress anyone, but he knew that with her that would be very, very hard to do, especially given the fact that while they may have _seemed_ to have gotten off on the right foot at the ball, it was now clear that that was, in fact, decidedly the wrong one (and it _hurt_ , goddammit – why did she have to step on the same one both times?)

The more Fitz thought about it, the more determined he became to impress her. He was child prodigy Doctor Leo Fitz, for god’s sake. Cocky bastard or not, he could woo a woman, even one as smart as Jemma Simmons. (The niggle of guilt he felt at using her was ignored completely.)

“Are you sure this is what my father wanted?” Fitz asked finally. “He never mentioned it to me.”

“Well of course he wouldn’t! You were only six years old when he died. And here I thought you were supposed to be a genius.” Garrett cracked his knuckles and smiled broadly. “Now are you ready to steal the throne?” 

 

 

Fitz checked his watch for the third time. If his calculations were right (and let’s be honest, they were), Jemma should have been in the lab for about an hour by now. Now would be the perfect time for an interruption; he couldn’t wait much longer. Fitz wrung his hands together and tried to ignore the nervous fluttering at the base of his stomach. He had done this a thousand times before – what Garrett called “romancing” a woman – so why was he so nervous about it this time? He shook his head. He couldn’t let Jemma Simmons get to him. It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath and stepping over the threshold, Fitz whistled as he strolled into the palace lab, hands in his pockets and picking at a stray thread inside. As expected, he saw Jemma in a back corner doing who-knows-what with all the dangerous chemicals that were kept in this place. The girl was nothing if not consistent.

He approached her at a leisurely stroll, trying to gauge her reaction to his presence and intending on choosing a plan of attack from there. When she pointedly ignored him and stared only more intently at her work as he neared – even after he cleared his throat loudly – Fitz decided to drop the niceties and go in for the kill (Garrett would be proud).

“I notice you’re not wearing your ring.”

At this point Jemma finally gave in and acknowledged his presence with a most impressive death glare. “Of course not,” she scoffed, “I am in the lab, after all. I couldn’t bear to see anything happen to it.” At that moment, a timer went off on her and she hurried over to a Bunsen burner. “Or my projects.”

Fitz merely rolled his eyes, following her as she crossed the room. “What’re you even working on, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be training to become queen or something?”

Jemma shut her eyes and took a visible breath before turning to Fitz and mimicking him. “What are _you_ even working on, running around my palace all day scribbling down designs and who-knows-what in your notebooks? Aren’t you supposed to be training to steal the crown or something?”

“Oh, so it’s _your_ palace now, huh?” Fitz deflected, oddly affected by how well she had read him.

“Ugh, Fitz.” Jemma huffed and practically stomped away, carrying some strange blue liquid that was smoking and probably poisonous. Upon reaching her destination she set it down on the appropriate counter and turned back to Fitz. “Perhaps it isn’t my palace, but it _is_ my lab, and you are interrupting my rare and precious lab time. So, for the love of all things scientific, please get away from me.” Seeming to think the subject settled, she turned on her heel to face the counter and leaned over it to look at a sample more carefully.

Fitz, however, was not going to give in that easily. He did stay a far safer distance away than previously – he didn’t trust that mysterious steaming liquid – but kept prodding. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can’t a man watch a fellow scientist work?”

A piece of hair, previously tucked neatly behind her ear, fell in front of Jemma’s face. Fitz resisted the urge to reach out and tuck it back. ( _Strange_ , he thought. They were standing here fighting, and yet he – never mind. Not relevant.) Luckily, she suddenly stood up straight, blowing the strands away from her face before turning away from him with a frustrated eye roll, at this point clearly exhausted from his antics.

“Perhaps I might have allowed Dr. Fitz to do so, but Lord Leopold, not so much.”

“Oh, please, you’re still stuck up on that? At your birthday party we had a full ten-minute discourse on my dissertation, which you had already read, by the way, apparently more than once, given your extensive knowledge of it, and yet you can hardly even act civil towards me because I just so _happen_ to be a royal? Like yourself, I might add?”

“But that entire conversation was a lie, _Leo_ ,” – Fitz tried not to visibly wince at the use of the epithet – “because you didn’t tell me who you really were or that you were trying to steal my crown.”

“Oh, please, pardon me,” he shot back, “I just had a momentary lapse of good manners. Y’see, usually, when I ask a woman to dance, I always show her my family tree.” Fitz looked at Jemma smugly and crossed his arms, quite proud of that particular comeback.

Jemma crossed her arms right back, presumably in an attempt to look threatening, but Fitz found that the safety goggles perched on her nose ruined that image a bit, making her look a bit more “cute with a touch of mad scientist” than anything else. He shook his head slightly, as if to rid his mind of the thought. _You’re not allowed to think she’s cute_ , he reprimanded himself. _You’re here to seduce her and steal her crown, not let yourself be unwittingly seduced by her feminine wiles and safety goggles._

Jemma huffed. “Well aren’t you just… crafty.”

 

 

At the current moment, Jemma wanted nothing more than to locate the nearest wall and bang her head against it. Crafty? _Crafty?_ That’s all she could come up with? Attempting to cover for her sad and frankly mortifying comeback, Jemma brushed past Fitz and strode out into the hallway towards a supply closet, talking over her shoulder as she went (and he, undoubtedly, followed.) “Well, do you want to know what else you were doing when you were doing your little lie dance?” Oh, god, Jemma. Not any better. Not any better at all.

“ _Lie dance_?” Fitz smirked. “What is a lie dance?”

They reached the supply closet and as they entered, Jemma turned on the light. She turned on her heel to face Fitz, pulling back a little when she found his stupidly smug face only inches from her own.

“The lie dance,” she conceded, “is not the point. The _point_ is that I –“

She stopped short when Fitz reached behind her and flipped the light switch off, leaving the room lit only by the crack under the door and a row of dim emergency lights along the opposite wall. Not wanting to give in to his antics, Jemma only flipped the switch back on and returned to her rant. 

“The _point_ is that I’m onto you. Oh boy, am I onto what you are trying to do,” she hissed, bringing her face closer to his and poking him in the chest with her index finger.

“And what am I trying to do?”

So he was going to play dumb? _Fine_ , Jemma thought. If he was going to play innocent, she was not going to hold back on him.

“I think,” she fumed, drawing even closer to him, “we both know _exactly_ what that is.” She was unable to elaborate, however, because at that very moment the closet door swung open to reveal one of the maids who often cleaned the lab – Callie, she thought she was called – with a look of hardly-contained shock on her face. Jemma shoved Fitz as far away from her as she could given the close quarters and turned towards the woman, ready to come up with some sort of excuse.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Callie squeaked. “Please excuse the intrusion, Your Highness, Lord Leopold.” She shut the door, leaving Jemma with a flaming face and faced with a far too smug looking Fitz – though had she been more level-headed, she might not have missed the red tinge that had spread across his own face.


	7. Chapter 6

Jemma was impressed that Skye didn’t mention it earlier. Jemma liked Callie, she really did, but to put it frankly, the woman was a bit of a blabbermouth. She knew the entire palace had known about her little faux pas within the hour, so the fact that Skye had waited until after dinner to bring it up was truly a feat.

That also meant, however, that Jemma had spent the entire afternoon paranoid that someone would say something, and as a result spent the entire afternoon thinking about it. It’d be one thing for her, an engaged woman, to be caught in a closet with her fiancé. But to be caught in a closet with that other man being her sworn enemy, no less–

“Oh, so he’s your sworn enemy now?”

Jemma paused her pacing of the room to roll her eyes at her best friend. “He’s trying to steal the throne, Skye. Of course he is.”

Skye, annoyingly, seemed to be trying to hide a smile behind her hand. “Right, of course. My bad. Carry on.”

She went back to pacing. “Nothing improper _happened_ , of course. We were actually arguing. But when Callie opened the door and saw that I was so close I could see that mischievous glint in his stupid blue eyes, so close I could’ve easily kissed him with just a little stretch of my neck–“

Skye raised her eyebrows. “Not that I would ever do that,” Jemma added hurriedly. “But Callie doesn’t know that. All she knows is that she caught us in a position that I’m sure appeared very compromising to an outside viewer. Context is everything, Skye. And, as they say, rumors only grow.”

 

 

“Rumors,” Skye repeated, unconvinced.

“Yes, Skye, _rumors_ ,” Jemma said, blowing a bit of hair out of her face exasperatedly. “What else would they be?”

“Well, it just seemed – I mean…”

Jemma crossed her arms, and Skye could’ve sworn she was tapping her foot impatiently. “You mean what, exactly?”

She sighed. There was no getting out of this one. “I just mean that you got along with him really well just a few days ago. You wouldn’t shut up about him for like, 24 hours. Actually, scratch that. You _still_ won’t shut up about him.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“All I’m saying is that those supposed _rumors_ might’ve spread even if you hadn’t been caught in a closet with him. There is… sufficient evidence that suggests that those rumors might not be too far from the truth.”

“ _What_?” Jemma cried, so loudly that a maid came in to make sure everyone was okay.

Once the woman was shooed away, Skye decided to just go in for the kill. Jemma always did best with blunt, after all. “It just seemed like you really liked him. And his genius brain. And his dreamy eyes. And he liked you.”

“Now knowing his motivations, I’m quite sure that he never _actually_ liked me. And I did not call his eyes _dreamy_ , Skye.” If Jemma could cross her arms harder at this point, Skye could’ve sworn she did.

“Don’t look at me like that, Jemma. I can read between the lines.”

“Whatever,” Jemma spat back defensively. “But I thought I’d made it fairly clear that I don’t feel that way anymore.”

“Oh, you’ve been quite vocal about that. But when you’re together, you two seem to have quite a bit of… _chemistry_.” Unable to help herself, Skye grinned and nudged Jemma with her elbow. “Geddit? Because you’re both science nerds?”

“Yes, I _get it_ , Skye,” Jemma said, but she sounded more tired of Skye’s antics than angry. “But it’s not like that matters at this point, given that he’s trying to steal the throne and is not my betrothed.”

Knowing that this was a battle she’d never win, Skye gave in and took the bait. “How is Will, by the way? Things going well? You’re compatible, if you know what I mean?” she said suggestively, adding a wink for good measure.

Jemma rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “This is a royal engagement, not a Tinder date, Skye. Sexual compatibility is not exactly the number one concern.”

“So you haven’t gotten down yet?”

It took only one death stare from Jemma to convince Skye to backpedal. “Okay, okay, fine. But seriously. What’s he like in real life?”

“He’s quite… nice,” Jemma answered, although with far less gusto than one might’ve hoped, given that she was _engaged_ to the man, for Christ’s sake.

“… _Nice_.” Skye tried to sound excited – she really did – but if that was all Jemma had to say about her new fiancé, well…

“And handsome,” Jemma added hastily, as if realizing how her first statement had sounded. “And smart. And funny. And he’s born and bred to be a king; he’ll be quite good at it, I’m sure.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh, don’t say it like that, Skye. I like him. Even if the marriage is political, I believe I can be friends with him, at the very least.”

There are a lot of things she’d like to say right now, Skye decided, mostly revolving around the fact that Jemma smiles when she talks about Will, sure, but there’s a fire in her eyes when she talks about Fitz. Mostly revolving around the fact that despite the gorgeous ring on her finger, she seems far more content to complain about Fitz than gush about her fiancé. Mostly revolving around the fact that in spite of the crown-stealing and constant arguing and complaints that he’s hijacking her lab, Leopold Fitz fits neatly and seamlessly into Jemma Simmons’ life like no one ever has before, all science-talk and banter. Skye isn’t sure if she’s jealous of him or angry at him or if she just admires him for it. 

But she knew that Jemma would do nothing but cross her arms and shut her down if she were to bring it up, so Skye sighed and reminded herself that this is not the battle that she needs to win. Instead, she shook herself out of it and reverted to her favorite tactic to use with Jemma.

“Okay, but like… do you _think_ he would be good in bed?”

“ _Skye_.”


	8. Chapter 7

Fitz wasn’t sure quite how he ended up here, but somehow, in the past hour, he’d ended up smack dab in between the best friend of the princess and the head of the Royal Guard, who apparently thought an official royal ceremony was a good time to have a flirt-off. 

“Trip,” Skye asked, as if Fitz was not there at all, “why is it that you yell everything when you’re on duty?”

The man was still at attention, but he just laughed. “Yelling is part of the job description. But I’m not yelling right now, am I?”

“Noooo,” Skye said, drawing the word out, “but from what I’ve heard so far today… you can be pretty vocal when you want to be.” Fitz looked over to Skye, and upon seeing her smirk, he decided that he was not about to let this conversation go any further – at least not with him around. 

“Hello,” he interrupted, before Trip could get in a word edgewise. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met in person, Skye. Although I have heard quite a bit about you.”

“And I, you.” She held out a hand to shake. “Skye Johnson,” she said with an overly-large smile on her face (although her eyes, shooting daggers, betrayed said smile), “official best friend of the future queen. I don’t like you!”

Fitz took it in stride, taking the proffered hand with a nod of the head. “Leo Fitz.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say next, but it didn’t matter, because Trip interrupted them. “That’s fun and all, but you guys might want to shut up. We’re about to start.” 

As if on cue, a fanfare began to play, and Trip stepped into rank with the other royal guards. “ _Attention!_ ” he shouted. “Introducing Princess Jemma Anne Simmons, reviewing the Royal Guard of Genovia.” 

She rode in on her horse traditional embellished dress and feathered hat on, her posture impeccable. (Fitz figured that this – forcing good posture – was the only reason they made the poor royal women wear those hats. He wasn’t exactly a fashion expert, but he couldn’t imagine why else they would wear something so ridiculous. Although he supposed they hadn’t asked him, so who was he to judge?)

She’d gotten about halfway down the stretch of gravel when suddenly her horse froze, bucking back a little. “Sandy,” she said, the sliver of panic in her voice betraying the calmness she was trying to exude. “Easy. Easy, girl.”

The horse, however, continued to buck up, higher and higher at each passing second, now with a sharp whinny. 

“Princess!” Coulson approached the horse somewhat tentatively, clearly out of his depth with the animal, but trying his best nonetheless. He reaches out to grab Jemma’s leg to steady her. “Princess, I’m here, let me–” 

Whatever Coulson said after that, however, Fitz couldn’t hear over the collective gasp of the people around him and his own shock of seeing a wooden leg sprawled across the ground in front of him. He had heard of royal women using fake legs instead of riding sidesaddle – in fact, according to legend it had been one of his own ancestors who’d had the idea – but he’d never actually seen one, or at least realized he was seeing one. Based off of the plethora of wide eyes and whispers of the people around him, he figured most other people here hadn’t, either. 

By the time Fitz had come back to his senses, Jemma was already halfway to the horizon, having galloped off on her horse in a state of panic.

“Should someone…” Skye trailed off as she looked over in Jemma’s general direction, apparently at a loss for words.

Fitz tore his eyes away from her retreating figure to scan the area in front of him. Most people were looking rather alarmed, a few guards were trying to keep the calm… and then his eyes landed on one of the horse handlers, his hands shoved surreptitiously in his messenger bag. It was a man he recognized as one of the lackeys, for lack of a better term, who had been hanging around Garrett quite frequently as of late. 

After a moment of looking and finding nothing else amiss, Fitz went to turn back to Skye, but at the last moment saw the man pull his hands out of his bag, drawing Fitz’s eyes to the movement. As the bag flapped open to let his hands free, Fitz could’ve sworn he spied the body of a – was that a rubber snake? 

Shit. _Shit_. So that was why Garrett had been asking about which horse Jemma usually rides – so he could figure out how to spook it. Shit, shit, shit. 

“I’ll find her,” he said, finally answering Skye’s question but eyes never leaving the messenger bag. 

“You sure?” Skye asked. “I’m not sure if you’re the best–”

“No, I got it,” Fitz said, tearing his eyes away from the bastard and looking at her. “I’ll play nice. I promise.”

Skye looked skeptical, but she nodded anyway. Before she could say another word, Fitz was off, chasing Jemma’s shadow.

 

 

As expected, Fitz found Jemma moping in the saddle room, her back to him as she sat facing the wall. He held out her hat, fallen off in the scuffle, as a sort of peace offering. “You shouldn’t hide,” he ventured. “It only makes them gossip more.”

Also as expected, Jemma only responded with a bitter, “What do you want?”

Unsure of exactly which tactic to use, Fitz took a chance and decided to go with humor. “Just think. One more leg and you could’ve easily outrun your horse.”

“I don’t need this right now,” she spat back, teary-eyed. Okay, wrong tactic.

“Jemma,” he said awkwardly, taking a step forward. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder but pulled it back at the last moment. “I’m sorry, I…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say next and feeling completely out of his depth.

“No, you’re not,” she spat, meeting his eyes for the first time and standing up. “You never think about anyone but yourself, so just this once, can you please let me be miserable and not make me feel worse about myself? You’re everywhere, Fitz. You’re at my birthday party, you’re in my house, you’re mucking up my _lab_ , of all places, just… just leave me alone for once, would you?”

“Oh, c’mon, Jemma, that’s not fair. I never meant to–“

“Princess, excuse me,” interrupted a voice from the doorway. Fitz turned to find Coulson looking sternly back at him, instead of looking at Jemma. “The queen has arrived.”

“Yes, Coulson, thank you,” she said as she slid past Fitz and exited the room without so much as a glance behind her.

When Fitz made out to follow her, he was surprised when he found the doorway blocked by Coulson’s arm. “Fitz.”

He looked up only to meet the same stern gaze that had stared him down just a moment before. Fitz gulped. “Sir?”

“Am I going to be disappointed in you?”

Fitz blinked. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then shut it just as quickly upon realizing that he had no idea how to respond, guilt and shame rapidly pooling in his stomach. Just then, however, he noticed Garrett noisily approaching over Coulson’s shoulder, and as Coulson turned to acknowledge the man, Fitz decided he had never been so pleased to see his overbearing uncle in his life.

“Unfortunate incident, that,” Garrett said loudly, filling the doorway as Coulson and Fitz backed away. He turned towards Fitz to address him directly. “I’m just leaving. Would you come see me off, Leo?”

He scowled at the epithet but made to leave anyway. He was once again stopped by Coulson’s arm, though, and upon looking up at the man, found that his gaze was fixed intently on Garrett. “I’d like to speak with your uncle alone, Fitz, please.”

Fitz nodded, not daring to contradict. He shuffled out of the room, but instead of heading out onto the lawn, merely rounded the corner where he could still hear the two men’s exchange. If need be, he decided, he could feign interest in the intricate plaque on the wall and use it to excuse his loitering.

“Viscount,” Coulson began quietly but no less intimidatingly, “you may not be aware of what my job entails, but as the Royal Head of Security, my job is to protect the crown, to make sure no harm comes to the crown, to step in when someone toys with the crown’s emotions, you see.”

“I think the entire country understands how well you cater for the crown’s emotions, Phil.” Fitz’s eyes widened. There had always been rumors, of course, about Queen May and her Head of Security, but that was… rather direct of his uncle. He could imagine the smug, smarmy smile that Garrett was surely sporting at the moment.

Coulson’s menacing tone of voice as he responded to Garrett’s accusation was so startling that Fitz took a physical step back. “If you hurt my girl,” he growled, “you will answer directly to me. And whatever crimes I commit against you, remember: I have diplomatic immunity in 46 countries, including Tahiti.” 

Garrett only laughed. “Phil, I’d have thought you’d know by now: the word _fear_ is not in my vocabulary.”

“Maybe so, John. But it’s in your eyes.” Fitz heard some shuffling around and then heard a slight _thump_. “You forgot something.”

Fitz was in such a state of shock that as Coulson rounded the corner, he completely forgot to try to disguise the fact that he had just been openly eavesdropping on their confrontation. They locked eyes for a moment, but instead of reprimanding him or giving a stern look as he expected, Coulson merely gave a curt nod as he passed. Unsure of what exactly to do, Fitz dazedly nodded back and watched him walk away.

When he was out of sight, Fitz turned back to the doorway to find his uncle standing there, rubber snake on his shoulder, with a scowl on his face. “Leopold, let’s _go_.”

 

 

How Fitz had ended up here, he was not quite sure, but what he did know, he decided as he dropped tea bags into the mugs before him, was that the only thing more terrifying than Coulson’s death stare was Queen May’s death stare.

“Fitz, I’d like to ask you a question.” _If Queen May, of all people, can remember to use my preferred name_ , he thought, _even with that look on her face, the fact that Garrett outright refuses to…_

He didn’t say this, of course, and simply settled for a nervous “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Why are you so against Princess Jemma being queen?”

“Well,” Fitz said, fiddling with the tea tag dangling now off the side of his mug, “my uncle feels that Princess Jemma doesn’t know the people.”

“And you do?” He could hear the skepticism dripping off her words.

“Yes,” he replied, honestly impressed with the steadiness of his own voice, given the circumstances. “I’m a true Genovian. I was born here. I went to primary school here.”

May didn’t seem convinced, her steely gaze never wavering. “And then you left for Scotland, then America, and didn’t come back for permanent residence until, what, last year? What makes Jemma any less suited than you?” 

Fitz reached out to hand a steaming mug to May, who nodded her thanks. “Jemma didn’t know she was Genovian until high school. And to be frank, she’s spent little time here since then.”

“And you have?”

“I’ve spent more time in Genovia than she has,” he said, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments as they each drank their tea, spoons clinking.

“I think Jemma will be an impressive ruler.”

“That’s high praise from May,” Coulson said, sweeping into the room seemingly out of nowhere, inexplicably donned with a pale blue and white striped apron and matching oven mitts. He placed a tray of muffins on the table. Fitz wasn’t sure if he was more shocked by the sight in front of him or the fact that May seemed entirely unfazed by the whole ordeal. “Muffin?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Thanks,” Fitz managed to splutter out, plucking one off the tray. 

“Really, though, Fitz. That’s just May’s professional way of saying that Jemma is bright, sensitive, caring, strong, kind, et cetera, et cetera. The whole _literal genius_ thing is just icing on the cake.”

“I know that,” Fitz said before he could even think twice about it, mouth still full of muffin.

May raised an eyebrow. (A terrifying, terrifying eyebrow.) 

It was too late to turn back now, but that didn’t keep a flush from creeping up his neck. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped seeing her as a rival, Fitz realized, but somewhere along the line, his perception of Jemma had flipped, leaving him with a perplexing fondness for the queen-to-be. Jemma might still have been reveling in their rivalry, but Fitz had stumbled into territory far more dangerous, far more uncertain, and there was no point in trying to hide it from Queen May. She could read people like none other. (It was the eyes, Fitz was positive. The intense stare of her eyes could get anyone.)

“Yes. Of course she’s all of those things. But how can one rule the people if they do not know them?”

The queen gave a tilt of the head that Fitz figured was something akin to “touché”, and left it at that, leaving the two them to sit in a strangely contented silence as they each finished their tea, Coulson bustling around them.


	9. Chapter 8

“Lady Isabelle!” Jemma shook the hand of the woman in question with a broad smile. “Congratulations on the engagement!”

“You too, Princess, but stop it with the formalities, it’s Izzy.” With sly smile forming on her face she continued, “You met my fiance? She’s hard to miss, that one,” she asked, her short bob bouncing slightly as she scanned the crowd. Craning her neck, her eyes scanned the garden party before finally resting on her target, a woman with a fiery magenta streak in her hair who appeared to be interrogating one of the stone lion statues that decorated the lawn. “Y’know, Vic would never admit it,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I think the only reason I could convince her to tag along at this party was because she wanted to scope out the palace grounds for the wedding.”

“Oh, they’re in very high demand,” Jemma said. “Because so few weekends are available, May’s said they can get booked years in advance. But…” she shrugged. “If you were interested, I might be able to make a few calls, see if they could open up another weekend for you.”

“ _Izzy_ ,” interrupted a voice from somewhere behind Jemma, “are you trying to take advantage of Jemma’s excessive niceness just to get a discounted wedding deal?”

“Bobbi!” Jemma exclaimed, reaching out for a hug as soon as the woman was in arm’s reach. “You look beautiful as ever.”

“As do you,” Bobbi replied, smiling. “Now if you don’t mind, Izzy, I’m gonna have to steal the princess for a moment. There’s someone I’d like her to meet. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Jemma didn’t even hear Izzy’s response, however, as Bobbi promptly whisked her away and led her through the throng of dignitaries and royals who filled the palace grounds.

“Hunter,” Bobbi introduced when they finally reached their destination – a scruffy-faced man in an SAS uniform who was hanging around by the pastries and trying very hard to look taller than Bobbi – “You remember Jemma?”

“The British Princess of Genovia, how could I forget,” he said, wiping the crumbs off his hands before reaching his hand out for Jemma to shake and giving a wink. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes at his unashamed flirtiness, otherwise ignoring the man. “So I found out the other day, Jemma, that Hunter actually knows the illustrious Lord Leopold fairly well.”

Jemma’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, do you? And how is that?”

“Well, love,” Hunter began, “it’s a story that involves a head wound, Scrabble, a screwdriver, and the fanciest beer I’ve ever consumed, and it’s a bit of a long one, so–“

“–So perhaps now isn’t the appropriate time to _tell_ said story, Hunter,” Bobbi cut in.

Hunter shrugged. “Your loss.”

Just then, Jemma noticed Fitz walking one of the garden paths a ways away, arm in arm with a beautiful woman, her beautiful blonde hair flowing down her back. “Speak of the devil.”

“Oh, come on,” Hunter said, a chocolate éclair halfway to his mouth, “I wouldn’t call him a devil. Hopelessly awkward, maybe, or–“

“Who’s he with?” Jemma asked, taking Bobbi’s lead and pointedly ignoring Hunter.

The woman craned her neck to take a peek. “Oh, that’s Lady Elissa. You’d like her.”

Jemma frowned. “Is that his… girlfriend?” Her voice came out an octave higher than she would’ve liked, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment at having sounded so much like a teenaged schoolgirl. Bobbi shot her a knowing look, and Jemma cleared her throat. “I’m just curious, is all. Isn’t it my job to know these sorts of things?”

Bobbi sighed. “No, Fitz doesn’t have girlfriends. Fitz has _dates_.”

“ _Hot_ dates,” Hunter reminded them from behind his éclair. “Speaking of, it looks like they’re coming this way. Oh, goodie.”

“You can’t just shamelessly flirt with Fitz’s date, Hunter.”

“Oh, c’mon, love. You were the one who said you didn’t want to be exclusive yet. And anyway, it’s not like he’s ever gonna willingly see her again, so might as well strike while the kettle’s hot.”

“This is a royal gathering, Hunter. There are unspoken social rules about this sort of thing. It’s also just, y’know, _common courtesy_ ,” Bobbi said.

Hunter shot back a smug grin. “Do I sense a bit of jealously, Princess Morse?”

“Shut up.”

“You weren’t telling me to shut up when–“

Luckily, Will chose that moment to approach the group, and Hunter managed to find the tact to shut up. He lost the tact, however, when after two seconds, he began tapping his foot impatiently. “So, princess? Care to introduce us to this dashing young man?”

“Right,” Jemma said, “Bobbi and Hunter, this is my fiancé Will. Will, this is Princess Barbara Morse and Lieutenant Lance Hunter.”

“Ooh, we get the fancy introduction, do we?” Hunter asked as he shook Will’s hand.

“Do I get a fancy introduction, too?” asked a female voice from somewhere behind her. Jemma turned around and found herself faced with a very gorgeous blonde arm-in-arm with a very smug-looking Fitz.

“Elissa, it’s so nice to see you again!” Bobbi gushed, reaching out to hug the woman, leaving Jemma in the perfect position to send a scathing look at Fitz.

Clearly noticing the tension, Will spoke as soon as the two broke apart. “I’m Will Daniels,” he introduced himself, taking Elissa’s hand and kissing it. “Hello.”

“Oh, hello,” she responded kindly, “I’m Lady Elissa.”

“What happened to giving her a fancy introduction, huh, Fitz?” Hunter asked playfully.

The man in question rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Hunter.” Well, if that was the way he treated all his friends, Jemma thought, no wonder he had so few of them. “Like you’re doing any better,” he added, head inclined towards Bobbi.

“Oh, right. Uh, this is Bobbi. Princess Barbara? Morse? She’s my…” he trailed off, and Bobbi raised an eyebrow. He looked to Fitz in alarm, who was clearly trying to suppress an amused grin. “My… date,” he finished lamely, and Bobbi groaned. “On that note, we should probably go. Over there. Where people are dancing. So that we can dance.” The proud stance Jemma had seen on him earlier withered as his uncertainty rose.

Bobbi shook her head in annoyance, but Jemma could have sworn there was a bit of a fond smile in there somewhere. “Well, me and my _date_ ,” she said, pointedly looking at Hunter, “are going to dance, apparently. We still on for brunch tomorrow, Jemma, if I don’t catch you before we leave?”

Jemma grinned. “Absolutely.”

“Great.” Bobbi then turned to Hunter and started dragging him away in the general direction of the open dance floor. “ _Date_ , Hunter? Really? That was the best descriptor you could think of?”

“Okay, in my defense,” he argued back, their bickering trailing off as they got further and further away, “I’ll remind you – again – that you were the one who was so against calling ourselves exclusive, so how could you blame me for…”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jemma found that an awkward silence had fallen over the group, now down to four.

They stood there for a moment before Fitz finally broke in, putting his hand at the small of Elissa’s back and saying, “Elissa and I were just discussing her latest achievement. She’s received the Rhodes Scholarship.”

“Oh, Leopold, please,” she said, blushing.

If Jemma hadn’t been looking for it, she probably wouldn’t have noticed Fitz flinch when Elissa used his first name. He recovered quickly, however. “Why not brag?” He asked bluntly. He looked very pointedly at Jemma, a challenging look on his face, then glanced back to Elissa as he added, “You’re an amazing woman.”

“Elissa,” Jemma said, tearing herself away from Fitz’s scathing gaze and remembering her manners, “Congratulations! You know, Will was a PhD candidate at Harvard, but then decided to serve his country as an Air Force pilot.”

“That’s so lovely–“ Elissa began, before she was rather rudely interrupted by Fitz.

“Fantastic,” he cut in, stepping in front of his date and closer to Jemma. “Y’know, Elissa was in the Peace Corps.”

“Really?” Jemma blurted. “Well, Will spent 14 months living off the land in the Sahara Desert so that he could better understand the psychology of early humans.”

Elissa looked as if she was about to say something, but as Fitz was completely ignoring her at this point, he cut her off. “Oh? But Elissa single-handedly–“

“Fitz, I do believe Elissa is trying to say something,” Jemma interrupted, turning to her. “Yes, Lady Elissa?”

“Will,” she said with a bit of a forced laugh, “would you like to go get a drink? I have a feeling they’re going to start a _my horse is bigger than your horse_ run?”

“I would absolutely love to,” Will said, and before she knew it, her fiancé had swept Fitz’s date right on away. It was almost as if they had wanted to leave the company of she and Fitz, which was absolutely preposterous, because she, Princess Jemma Simmons, was a joy to be around. Fitz, however… well, that was fair. She wouldn’t blame anyone who wanted to get away from Fitz. Poor Elissa, being stuck with him all day.

Speaking of, Jemma brought herself back to earth and found that she and Fitz were once again very close to each other. He seemed to notice it at exactly the same time, and they both stepped briskly away from each other, leaving a perfectly natural amount of space between them. How did this keep happening? It’s not like Jemma wanted to be near Fitz. He just riled her up, was all. Getting close to him, she supposed, was probably her subconscious’ attempt at intimidation.

“Nice party,” Fitz blurted, somewhat suddenly and fairly awkwardly, his hand coming up to rest behind his neck and his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.

Jemma nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”

Fitz cleared his throat. “You two make such a nice couple,” he said, sliding back into his normal, disgustingly suave self.

“We do, yes.”

“They’ve been saying you’d make quite a good team.”

“Mhmm. We really do complement each other.”

“It’s a shame you’re not attracted to each other.”

“I know,” Jemma agreed, “I–“ _Shit_. Fitz nodded, smirked, and started to walk away, but there was no way in _hell_ that Doctor Doctor Jemma Simmons was going to let that slimy, no-good, throne-stealing bastard leave with the last word. Well, technically she’d had the last word, but that was not the point. The point was that as Fitz started walking along the garden path, she followed right on his heels, hands balled into fists.

“That was not what I–“ Jemma tripped over a loose section in the stone path, quietly cursing her heels before speeding up her pace to catch Fitz again. “I will have you know that I am _very_ attracted to Will.”

“Well, obviously,” Fitz drawled.

“I _am_ ,” she reiterated. “We are perfect for each other. He understands me–“

“Understands you?” Fitz interrupted incredulously, the crack in his voice betraying his attempt to remain unbothered by her very presence. “Wow, what passion. But I didn’t hear you mention love.”

“Ugh, Fitz,” Jemma said, pulling out her fan, and seriously considering smacking Fitz upside the head with it. Instead, she settled for turning her back to him and walking the perimeter of the fountain, which the path had led them to. “You’re just jealous. And a romantic. You, of all people, should know that love is not necessarily a key element in royal marriages.”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, now on _her_ heels, “you’ve just admitted that you’re not attracted to him.”

“Being in love with someone is not the same as being att–“ Jemma butted in, but Fitz continued to talk over her.

“And second of all, why would I be jealous of Will? He’s got to spend the rest of his life married to _you_.”

Jemma froze in her tracks, and with a death grip on her fan, she spun around so that she was face-to-face with Fitz. She finally gave in to her urge to smack him, bringing her fan down on his chest and hissing, “I loathe you.”

Fitz gasped and used his rolled-up party program to smack her on the arm. “I loathe _you_.”

She wasn’t sure how it happened or who moved first, but one second the two of them were having a stare-down and the next they were surging towards each other and kissing with a certain ferocity that Jemma had never experienced in any of her previous relationships. For a moment they battled for dominance, and somewhere in the back of her mind Jemma tried to decide if she was surprised or not by the dexterity of Fitz’s tongue or the way his hands moved so confidently up her back or the softness of his lips or how this was best kiss she’d experienced in as long as she could remember or – oh god. She was kissing Leopold Fitz.

Without warning, she broke apart from him and shoved him away, finding herself somewhere between dazed and fuming. “What are you doing?” she whisper-yelled, though it came out more breathless than she had hoped for. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just go around kissing people, and particularly not _engaged people_.” Jemma stormed off, trying to distance herself from him, but in a stunning, _stunning_ turn of events, he followed.

“Oh, oh, so _I_ kissed you, now? Because it seems to me like it was a joint effort–“

“No, it was not a–“

“I seem to recall you very enthusiastically putting your tongue in my mouth–“

“Stop trying to confuse me!” Jemma cried.

“Please, Simmons,” Fitz shot back, “you’re a smart girl. You’ve got two PhDs. What could you possibly find confusing about a kiss?”

“I’m not a smart girl,” Jemma said, scathing, “I am a smart _woman_. A smart queen-to-be _woman_. So don’t think you can just kiss me, or woo me, or somehow convince me not to marry Will by pulling this kind of _shit_.”

“Ouch. Miss Queen-to-Be, better watch that dirty mouth.”

“ _My_ dirty–? Coming from you? Oh, Leopold Fitz,” she seethed, getting into his personal space, “you are the most hypocritical, manipulative, two-faced–“ And suddenly, before either of them had time to react, both Jemma and Fitz were tumbling into the fountain. In hindsight, much like the kiss, she had no idea what happened. Had he fallen? Had she fallen? Had one been pulled in by the other? She wasn’t sure. But at the time of the incident, all that she cared about was the fact that she was soaking wet, and he was soaking wet, and they were going to have to walk back through the party like this.

So she did what any good princess would do: she stood up tall, put her hat back on, said, “Good day, Lord Leopold,” ignored the man’s protests as he tried to follow her out of the fountain, and walked back towards the palace completely dripping wet.

“Do I even want to know?” May deadpanned upon seeing Jemma’s soaking wet form. (Will, on the other hand, looked moderately petrified, and Skye was attempting to suppress a giggle.)

“I don’t think so.”

As Jemma walked away, starting to shiver, she heard Will ask May, “She’s going to be a handful, isn’t she?”

“You’ll never be bored,” she responded, ever the diplomatic queen.

“Good luck!” Skye said enthusiastically, slapping Will on the back and skipping up to catch up with Jemma.


	10. Chapter 9

“I can’t believe I let that happen,” Jemma fumed, pacing back and forth in her room as May and Skye looked on, simultaneously amused by and tired of her antics. “I am the future _queen_ of Genovia. I can’t just be falling into fountains left and right, especially not with the man who’s trying to steal the throne, and not least when I am _very_ engaged.”

“Oh, c’mon, Jem. I’m sure the press will forget about it in… you know, a week or two,” Skye supplemented with a shrug. “Maybe three, because it’s good news.” May shot her a look. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say to reassure her best friend, but hey, at least she was trying.

Suddenly, Jemma stopped pacing altogether and looked at the two of them, each perched on a corner of her bed. Skye wasn’t sure what Jemma had done to her facial expression to make her feel guilty just by looking at her, but whatever it was, it was working. “Why aren’t you yelling at me?” she asked May.

The queen sighed. “I think you’re doing enough of that for the both of us, Jemma.”

Jemma let out a frustrated puff of air and started pacing again. “But isn’t this bad? I mean, everything you’ve ever taught me says that a queen should be poised and professional and–“

“Jemma,” May interrupted, her usually business-like tone softening. “Since you weren’t raised in a royal environment – or even a Genovian one – it makes sense that this world might take a bit more getting used to for you. Besides, every royal has their own… struggles, early on. You should see some of the headlines they wrote about me when I was young.”

“Ooh, can we?” Skye asked excitedly, only to be shot down immediately by a deadpan look from May. Damn, that woman was good.

Jemma, however, seemed to not have heard Skye at all. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “This is my royal scandal. What if the papers try to convince the world that I’m having an affair with F–“ She slapped a hand over her mouth. “This is horrible. How did I even end up here? How did this happen? I mean, Fitz is not only trying to steal the throne, but he’s also a selfish, power-hungry prick who uses women and oh, god, why did I kiss him?”

Skye’s jaw dropped open. “You _what_???”

“Actually, I still maintain that he kissed me. It was most definitely not my fault.”

“Okay, okay. Let me get this straight. At some point during this argument with Fitz, your sworn enemy, you two ended up kissing. And you just… let him kiss you? Kissed him back?

“You have to understand, Skye,” Jemma explained, stepping in closer to her in earnest. “I was in a state of shock, and I was very… very riled up.”

“And so you two got so into it that you fell into a fountain?”

“Skye!” Jemma admonished. _Okay, apparently not_. “We did not fall into the fountain while kissing. We fell into the fountain when we were arguing about the fact that we had kissed, which obviously occurred _after_ we kissed. Oh, god, I should stop saying that out loud. What if that horrible Rita woman from the _Morning Post_ bugged the palace?”

“But you liked it. The kiss, I mean.” Skye knew she was pushing it. But Jemma was in rant mode, and that was when it was easiest to get the truth out of her, what with her tendency to ramble. Skye couldn’t turn down the opportunity now, after it had been so carefully placed in front of her on a golden platter.

“No, of course not!” Jemma squeaked out as she flushed red, hands fidgeting. “I did not at all like the kiss. It was not good at all. In fact, it was bad. Unenjoyable, one might say. But surely not something that I _liked_ participating in.” Skye exchanged a disbelieving look with May. Jemma might be a genius, but she was god-awful at lying. “His tongue was dry,” she finished with a nod, as if that was that.

Skye had quite a number of questions at this point – starting and ending with _How much tongue was involved in this make-out session for you to even know how dry his was?_ – but decided, just this once, to let it go.

May sighed, and then said, very gently, “Jemma. This is not the end of the world, do you understand? I’ll talk to Coulson, and we’ll do what we can to keep the public’s attention away from it.”

“But I lost it, May! I completely lost it. I’m the princess! I’m not supposed to lose it. I’m supposed to _find it_ ” she cried, her voice wavering with pent-up emotions. 

“No, you’re not supposed to lose it,” May said, looking as if she was going to say something else, but Jemma ranted on.

“But I’m not usually like this, May! I’m responsible and I take the rules very seriously and I do not, by any means, fall into fountains with throne-stealing men! Skye, tell her. Tell her about how responsible I’ve been since you’ve known me.”

May answered before Skye could even consider giving a response of her own. “ _Jemma_ ,” she repeated, this time with more urgency than before. “I know. But sometimes…” she paused, trying to find the right words. “Sometimes, in life, we meet people who bring certain things out of us. Things that perhaps we didn’t expect, or things that we’d been trying to hide. It can be hard, especially when you’re in the spotlight, like we are. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“But May,” Jemma whined, slumping on the bed between them, suddenly deflated, “he’s trying to steal the throne. He’s a horrible person.”

“Maybe so. But I think you’re seeing what you want to see in him.” Jemma didn’t respond, instead only burying her face into a pillow.

For the umpteenth time that night, Skye and May exchanged a look. For all her hard exterior, Skye was impressed with how perceptive the queen was, especially of Jemma’s feelings. Not for the first time, she wondered what on earth this woman had faced in her past, and what Jemma might have to face in her future.

At this point, Skye had no idea what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Her gaze at May turned from knowing to a bit helpless. Luckily, May took up the reigns and smartly decided to change the subject. “We should go over logistics for the school visit tomorrow.”

Jemma popped up from her spot on the pillow with a renewed energy. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. I was hoping that we could…” Jemma continued her excited babble, May nodding along and giving input where necessary, but Skye just leaned back on her arms and zoned out, watching them with a fond smile.


	11. Chapter 10

Jemma sat in the back of a carriage, of all things, with her eyes closed. As expected, the tabloids were going wild after her little incident the day prior. And now, less than 24 hours later, she was expected to wave and smile at the press as well as the people of Genovia in a two-hour-long parade, and then visit a school science fair, surrounded by cameras and microphones and prying eyes? She shuddered at the thought of what the rest of the day would bring. 

“Princess?” She was snapped out of her reverie by Coulson’s voice as he stepped up onto the back of the carriage. “It’s nine o’clock. Are you ready to begin the parade?”

Jemma took one last deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

 

Four hours later, Jemma found herself in a distinctly less royal situation: standing before a row of elementary-aged students in a school cafeteria that smelled vaguely of stale mini corn dogs, flanked by Mack, who sat in a child-sized plastic chair which was comically dwarfed by his huge body. 

“And this is Blake Wollen,” the school’s principal, Dr. Caldwell, proudly announced, apparently unaware that Jemma had let her focus drift from his rambling student introductions. “Blake won the science fair contest this year with his egg-drop experiment.”

Jemma surveyed the line of science fair winners in front of her, each standing straight and some looking vaguely terrified of her presence. They’d all done splendid work, she was sure, but of the six winners, every single one of them was male. She couldn’t help feel a bit unsettled at the prospect.

“Congratulations, boys. You’ve all done very well. I’m looking forward to seeing your success in the future.” 

Dr. Caldwell beamed, and Jemma pasted on her best royal smile as she posed with the boys, their teachers, and Dr. Caldwell for a photo-op. 

As soon as it was over, however, she pulled the principal aside. “These boys have done lovely work, Dr. Caldwell. But I can’t help but notice that although this is a co-ed school, all six of the top students were male. Is this not something you noticed when the panel was judging the competition?”

The principal looked somewhat like a deer in headlights. “Well, Your Highness, we judged the project based on a number of criteria: difficulty, execution, use of the scientific method–”

“And not a single girl met those criteria? With all due respect, sir, I find that hard to believe. Can I see the projects of some of the girls?”

Dr. Caldwell, after a moment of shell-shocked silence, led Jemma towards the back of the room. In the far corner, a young girl, smaller than most of the others, caught Jemma’s eye: where other kids milled about together, she stood alone in front of a multicolored poster with her thumb stuck in her mouth. 

“Who is she?” Jemma asked quietly, head tilting in the girl’s direction.

Dr. Caldwell started, as if surprised that she’d noticed the young girl at all. “Oh. That’s, uh, Carolina Templeton. She’s one of our…” He lowered his voice, as if hoping no one around might hear him. “ _Scholarship_ students. She joined our school last year when she was orphaned.”

“Hmm,” Jemma intoned, before marching in her direction. Dr. Caldwell rushed in behind her, as if tethered to Jemma by a string. When she arrived at the young girl’s poster she knelt down in front it. “Are you Carolina?”

The girl nodded, not taking her thumb out of her mouth.

“Can you tell me about your project?” Carolina only looked back with wide eyes, as if afraid to answer. Jemma realized she’d have to prompt her a bit more if she wanted her to talk. “You used this flower, right?” she asked, pointing up at the carnation on the table in front of the poster. “How did half of it turn pink, and half of it stay white?”

Carolina blinked, and for a moment Jemma was a afraid that she would stay silent again, but then she spoke, slightly muffled by the thumb still in her mouth. “I cut the stem in half.”

“And what did you do with it then?”

“I put one half in regular water and the other half in water that had pink in it,” she said.

“So that half turned pink?” Jemma asked. 

“Mhmm. Because of, um, caplil–capi–caplillary action.”

“Capillary action?” The young girl nodded. “That’s awesome, Carolina! Good work.”

Jemma stood up and took the principal aside. “This is one of the best projects I’ve seen,” she said. “Why didn’t Carolina get one of the winning ribbons?”

The principal shifted on his feet. “Well, I don’t believe she submitted her project into the contest.”

She frowned. “Why do they have to submit their projects? If every student here does one, why aren’t they all automatically submitted?”

“It’s… just always been our policy,” Dr. Caldwell said.

“Interesting,” Jemma said.

Without waiting for a response, she turned around and walked back to where Carolina stood. “Carolina, why didn’t you submit your project to the science fair contest?”

The young girl shrugged, thumb still in her mouth. “Blake said flowers are too girly to be science.”

Jemma’s heart sank. Of course. “Have you ever heard of botany, Miss Carolina?” Carolina shook her head. “Botany is the study of plants, just like your carnation here. It’s super special science for super smart people like you.”

Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Really?” Her thumb fell out of her mouth, forgotten.

Jemma smiled. “Really. Would you like to be a botanist someday?”

Carolina seemed to consider this very seriously. “Maybe,” she said earnestly. “But I also like rocket ships.”

“Well,” Jemma said, laughing. “Maybe you can be a physicist, then. Or both. You can do whatever kind of science you want, Carolina. Every kind of science is for everyone. And maybe next time I can come and we can work on a winning science project together.”

“You do science, too?”

“Of course! I even have a lab at the palace where I can do my experiments, and a special white coat and special safety goggles. I studied a kind of science called biochemistry. In fact, can I tell you a secret?” Carolina nodded enthusiastically and Jemma beckoned her in closer. “Do you know what a PhD is?”

“Dr. Caldwell has one, I think. It says so on the big fancy paper on his wall.” Carolina said, brow furrowed.

“Well, I have two of those. So just like your principal is Doctor Caldwell, I’m Doctor _Doctor_ Jemma Simmons.”

“Doctor Doctor Princess ,” Carolina corrected.

“Right, yes, of course,” Jemma said, smiling. “But I think it’s time for you to go back to class now. I’ll see you later, okay, Doctor Carolina?”

The girl giggled. “I’m not a doctor yet .”

Jemma gasped. “Oh! Silly me. Your project was so good that I forgot. But I’ve got to leave now, okay?”

“Okay!” Carolina said, bouncing on her heels, waving with both hands. “Bye!”

Smiling fondly, Jemma stood up all the way, brushed past Dr. Caldwell, and made her way back to the press area in the far corner of the room. She became suddenly aware of all the cameras and microphones, previously forgotten, following her as she went.

She stepped up to the podium, tapping on the microphone and clearing her throat. _Chin up, shoulders back, royal smile on._ “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I have an announcement to make. Genovian schools are well-known for their strong leadership and academics, and for good reason. I see those great attributes here at this fine school, as well. But I can’t help notice that so many of the female students are being overlooked and forgotten in a way that male students are simply not. This is, of course, not an issue found only at this one school, but at schools all around the country.”

“When I was young, I faced much of the same ridicule and discouragement that many young Genovian girls face today. If it hadn’t been for the push that I received from a handful of outstanding teachers, the support that I received from my family, the helping hands that I received from some extraordinary peers, I would not have pursued science in the way that I did. I would not have gotten either of my two doctorates. I would not have any of the confidence that I have since learned to exude, neither in the lab nor in Parliament.”

Jemma squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as she looked out at the small sea of reporters before her, each perched on the edge of their seat. Beyond them, she caught the gaze of Carolina, eyes wide and inquisitive and hands empty as she stood in line with her class, several of her male classmates holding ribbons and certificates beside her. No backing out now. 

“This is why I am instituting a program to encourage Genovian girls to pursue their interests, especially in STEM fields. To be that push, that support system, that helping hand that so many young scientists so desperately need. That positively changed my life, and will hopefully do the same for the lives of the next generation of Genovian leaders.”

“Genovia is a great country. Its schools should be no less. And in those great schools, students of any gender should be equally supported and allowed every opportunity available, and I will see to following through on that promise myself. That is all for today, but stay tuned for updates on the initiative from the royal administration.”

Jemma stepped down from the podium among a flurry of camera flashes, a dozen reporters shoving microphones as close to her face as they could possibly manage and shouting over each other, each wanting to ask a hundred questions. As soon as she caught Coulson’s eye and noted his raised eyebrow, however, the adrenaline that she had previously not even noticed suddenly left her body, the weight of what she had just announced settling into her bones. 

“Impressive speech.”

Jemma’s eyes widened. “What did I just do, Coulson?”

The head of security only smiled. “You wanted the fallout of your falling into the fountain minimized, right? Because whether you meant to or not, you’ve just given them a new headline for tomorrow.”

 

 

 

Late that night, Jemma was sitting at her desk, papers scattered in front of her and her head in hands, when she heard May approach.

“May?” she asked, voice muffled. “Why is it so hard to get legislation actually put into motion?”

“Because real life is not quite so reliable as a Poli Sci 400 exam.”

“Science,” Jemma huffed, sitting up and turning to face May, “is always reliable. Even when you get unexpected results, there is always a good explanation for it. But these stupid rules and hoops to jump through and all this red tape is just…”

“Created by people?”

“People are not reliable, May. I thought Senator O’Connell would be behind me on this initiative, but he rejected it at hand, before I even got half the proposal out. And Senator Rhimes is asking for huge changes, and–“

“And it’s going to be fine,” May interjected.

“Education funding is hard enough to get as it is. But this is a huge project and I very foolishly already announced it so I can’t back down now. Does Parliament always push back so hard when you propose something?”

“Sometimes. But you’re a rookie. They’re testing you, Jemma. If you don’t let them intimidate you, if you push back, you’ll start to gain their respect. And that, more than anything, is what’s important.”

“I’m not the pushing type,” Jemma said. “I don’t _want_ to be the pushing type,” she added.

May sighed, and sat down in one of the fluffy chairs near the desk. “Skye once told me the story about your first dissertation.”

Jemma furrowed her brow. _What did that have to do with politics?_ “And?” she asked.

“The university wouldn’t let you use the materials you wanted, right?” Jemma nodded. “So what did you do?”

“I went to the head of the department with a whole list of pre-prepared reasons why they should let me… oh.” Jemma looked down at her hands. “Are you telling me I’m already pushy?”

“I’m saying it’s not necessarily a bad thing,” May said gently. “Because you got the materials you wanted, and you did the dissertation you wanted to do. And they still liked you enough to take you back for your second doctorate.”

“But that was just my own life. With this, the safety and wellbeing of an entire country depends on me.”

“What’s the difference?”

Jemma groaned and leaned forward so that her head was resting on the table in defeat. “You make it look so easy. But here _I_ am, falling into fountains and announcing nearly impossible propositions just because I felt bad for a little girl with a science project. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“I didn’t think I was cut out for it, either, when I was your age.” May said, and Jemma snapped her head back up. At her inquisitive look, the woman just shrugged. “It’s a daunting mantle to take up. But believe it or not, I used to be just as enthusiastic and inquisitive as you. Well, maybe not _quite_ as enthusiastic, but just as inexperienced. But you learn, and you get better, and you gain the respect of the people and the Parliament alike. I have every faith in you.”

Jemma tried to imagine May her age – bright-eyed, bushy tailed – and found that she couldn’t. May was a wonderful woman, really, but now she was… stoic. Guarded. Jemma had heard whispers about what had happened to her during her reign, about wars and dead husbands and being reverently called the Cavalry by her soldiers. But if she used to be more like Jemma… what had happened? When Jemma became queen, what would happen to her?

As if reading her mind, May tentatively reached out and touched Jemma’s arm. “Everything is going to be fine, Jemma. The country is in a good place now. The things I saw as queen… I will do everything in my power to make sure they stay behind us. Now,” she said, removing her hand and suddenly all business, “what are the problems you’re having? I could offer some suggestions.”

Jemma picked up her head and took a deep breath. May wouldn’t lie to her – if she, of all people, thought Jemma could do it, then she sure as hell was going to at least try. She tried to imagine Carolina’s excited little face when Jemma had talked to her earlier that day. If not for herself, she could at last do it for Carolina. 

She picked up a notebook from the desk in front of her and finally met May’s eyes. “Okay. The more conservative senators are concerned about the expense to taxpayers, so I had hoped to…”

 

 

The following morning, Jemma was practically giddy as she walked the halls of the palace. May had helped her solve her funding problem, and she was almost positive the senate would manage to pass the bill, even if by a narrow margin. Lost in thought about the exciting prospects ahead of her, she didn’t notice Fitz’s presence in the hallway until she very nearly ran right into him.

“Hello,” he said, hands in his pockets. 

“Hello,” she responded cordially. “Are you here to invade my lab again today?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Sadly, no.” (Jemma tried to ignore the inkling of disappointment she felt at these words, pushing it into some deep, dark corner of her brain where she wouldn’t have to dwell on it.) “I uh… I wanted to tell you that I was very impressed by what you did at the boarding school, and the new initiative and all.”

Well _that_ was certainly not what she expected him to say. “Thank you,” she said, unsure of how else to respond.

“The world needs more female scientists.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. When I was at MIT, the engineering program was 75% male. It would’ve been nice if there’d been more women. There was a bit too much testosterone for my taste.” He let out a low laugh.

She crossed her arms. “What, you just wanted more women around you so that you could ogle them?”

His eyes widened. “No, no, that’s not what I – I would never–” His face reddened and he took a deep breath. “I just mean to say that women are underrepresented in STEM. I’ve spent a lot of time at university, and I’ve seen a lot of really smart girls drop out of STEM programs for all the wrong reasons. I just… I think you make a, um, a really good role model for little girls who are interested in science and technology.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the perfectly-waxed floor and stared at it intently. “You’re not even queen yet, and you’re already going above and beyond. I think that’s… that’s, it’s really good of you.”

Now Jemma’s eyes widened, and she felt a pang of guilt for her earlier comment as she realized that he was being completely genuine. “Oh,” she managed to squeak out. He brought a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

As they stood there in a semi-awkward silence, Jemma wondered if this Fitz – this stuttery, blushy, bumbling engineer – was more like the real him than the suave, womanizing, throne-stealing Lord Leopold was. As much as it was a bother to her that he was constantly using her lab, messing up her strict organization, bickering with her when she was trying to work… perhaps his presence in the lab wasn’t _just_ to rile her up. The strain of the past few days had invariably drawn her there as a stress-reliever, and she’d found that Fitz was already there more often than not.

Sometimes, before she made her presence known, she’d just watch him work for a moment. (A voice in the back of her head told her that this was a bit creepy, but she ignored it on the grounds that she was studying her enemy.) Until she did this for the first time, she thought that Fitz as Lord Leopold, royal attire on, woman on his arm, was the most natural state of being for him. But as soon as she saw him alone in the lab – squinting at his notes, humming to himself, taking apart projects – she realized that Lord Leopold was far more robotic, more stiff, more scripted, than she’d ever realized. This Fitz, however – this Dr. Fitz, PhD – moved fluidly and looked incredibly relaxed. Even if his eyebrows were scrunched up in frustration or confusion, Jemma couldn’t help get the feeling that he’d still rather be here than drinking expensive champagne at a dinner party or a ball.

As soon as she’d clear her throat, however, or come treading into the room, his demeanor would suddenly change. In an instant, he’d turn from mad scientist (or mad physicist, she supposed) to the upright royal Lord who brought dates to her parties and tried to steal her throne. There was a distinct line between the two Fitzes, and Jemma could not possibly fathom why.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there in the hallway, awkward silence surrounding them, but apparently they both hit their limit at the same time, because they started talking simultaneously.

“I really should go make sure the legislation is–”

“I’ve actually got this, um, book to read, so–”

“I’ll see you–”

“At some point,” Fitz finished lamely.

They both started to walk away, but almost ran into each other again when they tried to go the same direction. It took another two tries, but they finally managed to get away from each other with nervous laughs and awkward fidgets. 

It wasn’t until that night, laying in bed, that Jemma realized that when Fitz had said, “You’re not even queen yet,” he didn’t mean it as a way of saying that the crown was still up for grabs. The way he said it, the context of the conversation – he’s said in a way that implied that her eventually becoming queen was inevitable, as if there was no competition for the throne at all. 

Jemma stared at the ceiling for a long time before she finally fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 11

“So, what do you say?” Garrett asked from his position on the lounge chair, eyes shut. 

“Well, she’s smart, and she cares about Genovia. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she ran the country.”

His eyes snapped open. “Are you _mad_?”

“She believes in Genovia so much that she’s convinced herself to marry someone who she knows she can never love!”

Garrett sat up and looked at Fitz like he was absolutely crazy. “You want _her_ to rule? After all the effort that we have put in, to end up with nothing?”

“It wouldn’t be nothing!” Fitz exclaimed. “Genovia would be in good hands, and…” He looked at his feet. “And she would be happy.”

Garrett looked as if he’d just had a horrible, horrible epiphany. “Ah,” he said, almost condescendingly, “you’ve fallen in love with her.”

“No, no.” _Shit, shit, shit._ “Uncle, listen. All that I’m asking is that–”

“No,” Garrett said sternly. “You listen. What do you think will happen, hm? That she’ll leave Andrew and marry you? When are you going to give up this childish notion that a princess has to marry for love? Even she’s let go of that, because – and you’ve said it yourself – she’s a smart girl. And I thought you were smart, until you went off and fell in love with her.”

Fitz knew that at this point, if someone as dense as Garrett could see, there was no point in trying to deny that he at least had some sort of feelings for the princess, so he just huffed. “You were the one who told me to woo her, after all.”

“I put in the effort to make you a king, not to marry a queen,” Garrett growled. “You were supposed to woo her just long enough to delay the marriage and then drop her like the other stupid women you date.”

“She is not _stupid_ ,” Fitz spat back. “And it doesn’t matter, because that marriage is not going to happen. Jemma doesn’t care for me that way. Or at all, really.”

“Oh, but you do,” Garrett said with a smarmy smile. “You care for her.” He tried to reach out as if to pinch Fitz’s cheek, but Fitz swatted his hand away.

“Uncle,” Fitz said, raising his voice and not letting the man talk over him, “I just want us to stop trying to sabotage her. That’s all.”

Garrett sat silently for a moment, before leaning back into the chair, apparently resigned. “Alright,” he said. “If that’s what you want. After all, I promised your parents I’d do what was best for your happiness.” He closed his eyes so that he was in the position he had been in when Fitz had entered the room a few minutes earlier. “Go to her, and congratulate her. Tell her we surrender.”

Now that his uncle’s eyes were closed, Fitz finally let himself smile in relief. “Thank you.”

In hindsight, it had been far too easy. But as it was, he was too relieved to overthink it, and he left the room whistling.


	13. Chapter 12

_Dink._

And another bullet just barely missed her mark. Jemma flicked the safety on her gun and plopped down on the grass, defeated. Why did she have to do this traditional gun-shooting ceremony anyway? Wasn’t it just encouraging violence? And if they were so worried about tradition, why didn’t they still use a bow and arrow like they did three hundred years ago?

Of course, her complaints about the ceremony had _nothing_ to do with the fact that she had been practicing for days – with the help of May, and Coulson, and some professional named Stan – but had yet to actually hit her target. Nothing at all. 

Just as she finally resolved to stand herself back up and try again, she heard a faint whistling from somewhere beyond the shooting range, out in the garden. At first she ignored it, but as it got closer and closer, she found that it was severely inhibiting her concentration, and as she continued to miss shot after shot, each was worse than the previous. She turned to see if she could see the perpetrator and tell them off, and to no surprise, was greeted by the sight of Fitz, ambling across her lawn. (The palace’s lawn. Whatever.)

As soon as he was in earshot, Jemma looked at him crossly and said, “Your whistling is distracting me.”

Fitz winced. “With all due respect, Princess, I don’t think my whistling could make your shooting much worse than it already is.”

Jemma threw up her hands in defeat. “Oh, please, as if–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Fitz interrupted, backing up. “You might want to turn on the safety of that thing before you start waving it around at me.”

She looked down and realized that she was still holding the gun, and that the safety was, in fact, still off. She flicked it on. “Perhaps I meant to leave it off,” she retorted, trying to cover for the fact that her face was reddening.

Fitz, for his part, didn’t seem convinced, and ignored her response altogether. “Would you like some help?” he asked. She was fully prepared to give a snarky answer, but it didn’t seem to be a question. He came up and stood next to her. (Far closer than was necessary, if she was honest. Of course, her aversion to his proximity had nothing to do with the fact that her heart was suddenly, inexplicably, beating out of her chest. Nothing at all.) “Show me your stance.”

Jemma sighed, but did as he asked. 

“Woah, put these things down,” he said, placing his hands gently on her shoulders and pressing on them slightly. “If you’re tense, you have to fight with the gun, and it will always win. You have to move _with_ the gun.”

She raised her eyes skeptically. “So you’re telling me to be one with the gun?”

Fitz squinted. (And it was not adorable at all. Nope, nope, nope.) “In not as many words, yes, I guess.”

“What, and you’re the gun expert? You’re _so_ much better at marksmanship than I am, are you? Hm?”

“Yes.” 

He was infuriating, that’s what he was. And confusing. Just the day before he had been refreshingly civil to her, and then he starts criticizing her shooting and acting all high and mighty about his marksmanship and – well, if he was going to brag, she was going to call his bluff.

“Prove it.”

“Okay.” Fitz stepped up to her and took the gun from her. He flipped it over in his hands, examining it carefully, before stepping up to the mark and getting into his stance, turning off the safety, shutting one eye and… hitting the target directly on the bullseye.

_Infuriating._

He turned to look back at her, smug as can be. She furrowed her brow. It was luck, that’s what it was. “Do it again.”

Bullseye.

“Again.”

Bullseye.

Fitz set the gun down with a raised eyebrow. “Is that proof enough for you?”

“How could you _possibly_ have done that?” Jemma huffed. 

He handed the gun back with a smirk. “Practice.”

“Okay,” she argued, “but I highly doubt that you’ve ever touched this exact gun before.”

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, suddenly sheepish. “I haven’t. But I, uh… I designed it.”

Jemma’s eyebrows shot up. “You what, now?”

“This gun, I… I designed it. I designed, or at least helped design, most of Genovia’s military weapons, actually.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged. “Members of royalty have to have jobs too, Jemma.”

“So you design weapons for the government,” she said dumbly.

“Yes.”

“I always kind of thought you just… wandered around and tinkered and bathed in money,” she admitted.

He laughed. “I do tinker, but I contribute to society, too. And,” he added with a tentative ghost of a smile and a playful nudge, “I bathe in water, just like the rest of you plebeians.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile as well. And it seemed like he was actually playing nice for once, so... she supposed she could do the same. “Well then, oh mighty Lord Leopold, do teach me your ways,” she said overdramatically, with a comically large curtsy. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Okay, so get your shoulders down. You’re way too uptight,” he said, crowding back into her space to press her shoulders down and adding, under his breath but loud enough that Jemma could still hear it, “To no one’s surprise.”

Jemma gasped, and turned so that she could face him better. “ _Excuse me_ ,” she exclaimed. “I am _not_ uptight.”

“Oh, please,” Fitz argued, eyes sparkling. “You’re the most uptight person I’ve ever met, and I once had dinner with Vladimir Putin.”

At that, her jaw dropped open. “I am holding a loaded gun. Do not tempt me, Leopold Fitz.”

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, and a broad smile spread across his face. It was the first time she’d seen him properly smile – not smirk, not sneer, not laugh humorlessly, but actually smile – since she first first met him, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of why she had been so enamored by him in the first place. “So, shoulders down. When you shoot, I want you to take a deep breath in, and then exhale as you pull the trigger. And, uh, aim a smidge to the left.” He bent his knees just enough so that the two of them were eye-level, and he aligned his head slightly behind hers so that he could see from her perspective. As he reached out to pull her hand just slightly to the left, Jemma could feel his breath on her neck, and she involuntarily shivered. “Like that. Got it?” he asked, voice soft and near to her ear.

Jemma nodded ever so slightly.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Now shoot.”

Jemma focused on his right hand, still on her shoulder, and on the tingle she could still feel in her left hand where he had just touched it. She breathed deeply in, exhaled, and–

She felt Fitz’s laugh against her ear rather than heard it. “You can open your eyes now.”

She didn’t move. “I’m scared of what I’ll see.” 

“Don’t be.”

Jemma slowly opened up one eye at a time. When she finally worked up the courage to actually look at the target itself, her eyes opened even wider. “I hit it.”

Fitz still hadn’t moved from his position next to her ear. “You hit it.” The bullet had hit the target well off-center, to be sure, and it was a good foot from Fitz’s perfect bullseye. But she had hit it. 

She turned in his arms to say something – she wasn’t sure what, exactly – when she was stopped short by the realization of exactly _how_ close she and Fitz actually were, their breaths mingling. They hadn’t been this close to each other since –

Fitz swallowed.

Her eyes started to flutter closed, but then the past few weeks hit Jemma like a freight train and she snapped her eyes back open without warning.

Still, neither of them moved from their strange half-embrace.

They waited a beat longer. 

“I have to go,” Fitz finally said, stepping away from her as he broke up the moment. “I, um… I really only came back to pack my things.”

“You’re leaving?” Jemma asked, hoping and praying to every deity she could think of that she didn’t sound as ridiculous and whiny as she thought that did. 

Fitz, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. “I think it’s time I bowed out gracefully,” he said, adding a definitive nod for good measure. 

She gave a slow nod in return, and set the gun down. “Goodbye,” she said, her hand outstretched in front of her for a handshake. 

Fitz took it and they just stood there for a moment. “Goodbye.”

They began to part ways, and it seemed as if Fitz was having a mental war with himself before he finally gave in and blurted, “Jemma?”

“Hmm?”

“Could I, uh… Well, um, tonight?”

Jemma raised an eyebrow, entirely baffled. “Yes, Fitz, nightfall is coming.”

“No, I mean, um, I meant… tonight. Could I. See you? One last time. Before I go.”

“Oh.” She paused. “But Fitz, you know I’m watched like a hawk.”

As if on cue, Mack emerged from somewhere behind them. “Princess,” he said, expression unreadable, but a glint in his eye that Jemma couldn’t quite place, “Coulson’s looking for you.”

Jemma shot Fitz a look as if to say _See_ , but he just shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” 

 

 

 

Jemma had big plans for the evening. She was going to put on the most comfortable pajamas she could find, she was going to read precisely 15 pages of the newest science journal she’d acquired, and then she was going to go to bed before 11. She had gotten so little sleep lately that she most assuredly needed to. These plans, however, were foiled completely when Skye came barging into her room yelling about something which involved the words _window, drone, _and _Prince Charming_. Needless to say, she was a bit confused. __

__“Skye, what is going on?” Jemma asked, furrowing her brow and closing the journal._ _

__“Look out your window, Jems.” Skye grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her across the room. Upon reaching the window, Jemma opened it up and found herself face-to-face with an impressively silent flying drone._ _

__She looked past it towards the ground and saw, sat with his back to the palace wall and with some sort of remote in his lap, none other than Leopold Fitz._ _

__“Fitz,” she hissed, head out the window. “What on Earth are you doing?” He looked up at her and gave her a crooked smile before navigating his drone back down and standing up._ _

__He cleared his throat dramatically. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”_ _

__“Seriously?” Jemma asked. She attempted to sound annoyed, but a traitorous laugh escaped._ _

__“Oh, do you not like that one?” Fitz asked. “How about _Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo_?”_ _

__“That doesn’t even make sense, Fitz. If this situation were accurate, you’d be gone and _I’d_ be making the soliloquy.”_ _

__“Oh, for god’s sake, Jemma, just come down here.”_ _

__She exhaled loudly and held up a finger. “One minute.”_ _

__Jemma pulled the window shut and turned to find Skye looking at her knowingly. “Soooo,” she said, drawing out the syllable. “What did Prince Charming want?”_ _

__“You know full well what he wanted,” Jemma stage-whispered. “I know you listened to that whole thing. And don’t call him Prince Charming.”_ _

__Skye grinned. “Okay, but… are you gonna go?”_ _

__“No!” Jemma exclaimed. “No. That is a recipe for disaster.”_ _

__“Then why haven’t you told him no yet?”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__Skye rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Jems. If you’d really wanted to say no, you would’ve told him to piss off in some extra-special British way, shut the window dramatically, and you’d already be back in bed reading by now.”_ _

__“And?” Jemma asked, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding herself off from some nonexistent cold and not quite looking Skye in the eye._ _

__“And you’re not. Which makes me think you must be actually considering it.”_ _

__“I–” Jemma cut herself off._ _

__“Do you want to go down there, Jemma?” When she didn’t answer, Skye put a hand on Jemma’s shoulder, catching her eye and holding her gaze. “Be honest with me.”_ _

__Jemma huffed and put her head in her hands, not saying anything. Skye was not about to give in, however, so she held her ground, hand still on Jemma’s shoulder. “Yes,” she said finally, voice muffled._ _

__“So do it.”_ _

__“But–”_ _

__“Oh, for god’s sake, Jemma,” Skye interrupted. “Do something impulsive for once in your life.”_ _

__She stayed in place for a moment, but finally worked up the resolve to pick up her head. “Please don’t judge me.”_ _

__Skye just laughed. “C’mon, Jems, it’s _me_ we’re talking about. The number of questionable decisions I’ve made in my life is far above average. Do you really think I’m gonna judge you?” Jemma shrugged. “I want you to be happy. And if this royal grumpy nerd makes you happy, then… so be it.”_ _

__“But you don’t like him.”_ _

__“I…” Skye sighed. “If I’m honest, Jemma, I never really gave him a chance. But I’m willing to now. And I think you should, too.”_ _

__Jemma sighed. “You really think so?”_ _

__“Oh, yeah. If you don’t do _something_ to resolve the sexual tension between you two, the rest of us are going to go bonkers. Like, I don’t know, maybe you just need a good hate-f–” Jemma cute Skye off by slapping her arm with the back of her hand. “I’m just saying, it’s getting a little out of hand.”_ _

__“You’re a bad influence on me, Skye.”_ _

__Then she grabbed the sweater draped over the back of a nearby chair and whipped the window back open, outside of which Fitz was still waiting, fiddling nervously with the drone that was now in his hands. He snapped his head up just in time to get hit in the face with the sweater Jemma had chucked out the window. His hands full and his reaction time poor, the sweater slid to the ground._ _

__Jemma swung her legs over the windowsill, heaving herself out the window and trying to gain her footing in the tree just outside it. She got a foothold and grabbed onto a branch, letting go of the windowsill, but miscalculated the transition, underestimating the height of the drop by several feet and ended up swinging wildly, narrowly missing slamming into another window with her knee. Finally regaining her footing, she took a second step down and went for a third, only to discover that her foot had gotten stuck in a knot in the tree about six feet off the ground, and she couldn’t dislodge it._ _

__For his part, Fitz was doing his very best not to laugh. (He was not very successful.)_ _

__“Fitz,” she hissed. “Help me out here.”_ _

__Before the man in question could even answer, however, Jemma lost her grip and went tumbling down to the ground, landing in a twisted heap next to her cardigan._ _

__“You know,” she said, exasperated, dragging her upper body off the ground just in time to see Fitz’s sad attempt to school his face into something akin to sympathetic, “a normal, considerate person might’ve tried to catch me, or help me, or something.”_ _

__Fitz looked down at the drone in his hands and then back at Jemma, feigning innocence. “But I couldn’t let you crush my drone. I just finished him.”_ _

__“Him?” Jemma rolled her eyes. “I see where I stand, then. Outranked by your drone.”_ _

__Fitz only laughed again and held out a hand to help her up, eyes soft and guard down, bursting with an undeniable fondness. She reluctantly took it, but they each pulled a little too hard, and by the time she was back on her feet, they were only about a foot apart._ _

__“You could’ve just taken the stairs and gone out the door like a normal person, y’know. I doubt the guards would’ve stopped you,” Fitz said._ _

__“Yeah, well. Skye told me I should do something impulsive, and you know me. I don’t half-ass anything.”_ _

__“Always an overachiever, you are.”_ _

__“And if I’m breaking rules already,” Jemma said, “might as well act like the reckless teenager that I never was.”_ _

__Fitz cocked an eyebrow. “Breaking curfew, Your Highness?”_ _

__She inched closer unconsciously. “I don’t have a curfew if no one knows I’m gone.”_ _

__“Ew,” Skye whisper-yelled from somewhere up above them. “Get a room.” Fitz and Jemma looked up with a start and each turned faintly pink, having completely forgotten about Skye, whose head was sticking out the window with a knowing look. “Yeah, I’m still here. Although apparently I’ve been relegated from ‘best friend’ to ‘no one’, so thanks for that one, Jems.”_ _

__Jemma grimaced. “Sorry.”_ _

__Skye shook her head good-naturedly. “But seriously, you should probably go before the guards catch you. I’ll cover for you two nerds.”_ _

__Jemma swooped down to pick up her cardigan off the ground. “I owe you one, Skye.”_ _

__“You owe me like, seven.”_ _

__Jemma just rolled her eyes and grabbed Fitz by the wrist, dragging him with her as she crept away. “Goodbye, Skye.”_ _

__“Use protection!” Skye called after them. She couldn’t quite see their faces anymore, but just imagining how red each of their faces probably went at that comment – well, that was good enough for her._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter neglects gun safety entirely like she really should have ear protection on but listen just let me have this


	14. Chapter 13

“Y’know, after I found out who you really were, I tried to forget about that conversation we had at my birthday party,” Jemma admitted more than a few minutes later as they wandered side-by-side, exploring the outskirts of the palace grounds. 

“What, the one where you interrogated me about my research?” Fitz asked, smiling.

“I was not _interrogating_ you!” she cried indignantly. “I was simply a fellow scientist who was curious about your work. And if you’re gonna be that way about it… maybe I won’t tell you about the solution I found to the problem you were having with your non-lethal gun design.”

Fitz stopped walking abruptly whipped his head to the side to look at her with wide, excited eyes, and was met with a smirk. “You solved my Night-Night Gun issue?” 

Jemma’s smirk dropped as she let out a groan and started walking ahead of Fitz. “I can’t believe you want to call it that.”

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to where he was standing. “Don’t change the topic on me, missy.”

“Fine,” Jemma said, rolling her eyes but unable to keep a smile of her face. She started walking again, Fitz falling in step with her this time. “What I was saying is that I wanted to pretend that conversation didn’t happen, but your chemical problem… it just wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“And that was the _only_ part of that conversation that wouldn’t leave you alone?” He nudged her with his elbow, smirking and raising an eyebrow suggestively. Jemma was reminded distinctly of the knowing look he had given her not long before she had thrown all good judgement and kissed him. And then fallen into a fountain with him. She shook the thought out of her head.

“Okay _Lord Leopold_ , wipe that smirk off your face and give me nerdy Dr. Fitz back.”

“Well, you didn’t say I was wrong…” Jemma playfully shoved him in protest. “Alright, alright,” Fitz acquiesced, hands up in surrender. “Tell me about your solution.”

“Dendrotoxin!” Fitz’s brow furrowed. Not sure exactly what that meant, Jemma went to her go-to in uncomfortable situations and started rambling. 

“So you needed a chemical component strong enough to knock someone out in a small enough dose to fit inside a bullet, right? Dendrotoxin fits the bill. It’s not very well-known, and it would definitely take some experimentation, but if my maths are correct, and let’s be honest, they are, we should be able to isolate a high enough concentration to–”

“We?”

Jemma cut her rambling off abruptly, and then started back up as quickly as she had stopped. “Well, I suppose you probably would be able to do it alone, I just thought that since I have a more extensive biochemistry background – but you’re right, I understand that you wouldn’t want to work with me–”

“Wait, no, Jemma,” Fitz said, reaching out to grab her hand as she unconsciously picked up her pace.

“–just, um, I can give you my notes or something, I know you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself, I didn’t mean to insinuate–”

“Jemma.”

“–not sure what I was thinking, really, I’m–”

“ _Jemma._ ” It wasn’t until Fitz had put his entire body in front of her, hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eye, that she finally stopped talking. “I would like that. Working on it together, I mean.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. I… oh. Well, that’s good then.”

Fitz’s smile filled his face slowly. “Yeah.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah.” 

 

 

 

The pair lay on their backs, looking up at the swath of bright stars above them. The night was perfectly still, the nearby pond glassy, with only the distant sound of crickets filling the air. 

“Tell me a secret,” Jemma said.

“Demanding,” Fitz scoffed.

“It’s not a demand, it’s a request. Tell me something about yourself that nobody else knows.”

Fitz turned his head to look at her, as if hoping she was joking, but received only a expectant look in return. He sighed, turning back to look up at the sky.

“I can name every type of monkey found in Peru.”

Jemma barked out a laugh. “ _Why?_ ”

Fitz, for his part, looked thoroughly offended. “What do you mean, _why_? I had a monkey phase as a kid. Doesn’t everybody?” 

Jemma raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “I might still be in my monkey phase. But monkeys are cool! Imagine having a monkey assistant.”

“Seems like a recipe for trouble, having an animal in the lab. Think of all the experiments a monkey might taint!”

“Says she who leaves cat livers in the fridge. _Next to my lunch_.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped open. “You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to leave your lunch in the lab refrigerator, of _all_ places in that giant palace.”

“It’s not my fault I get peckish when I work,” Fitz grumbled. “Okay, I told you my secret. Your turn.”

“Fine,” Jemma said, settling back into the grass, imperceptibly closer to Fitz than she had been a moment before. “I know every single Greek myth that corresponds with a constellation.”

Now it was Fitz’s turn to give an incredulous look. “You, queen of the scientific method, know the myths that go with the stars? I cannot imagine why you would have found fake stories about the night sky interesting or relevant enough to learn them all.”

Jemma only laughed. “I had scoliosis as a kid. Had to have surgery to correct it. I had to stay flat on my back for a few weeks, and was unbelievably bored – I couldn’t play with my chemistry kit, or dissect worms in the yard, or do just about anything that little me liked to do.” Fitz made a face at the worms comment, but she only rolled her eyes and forged on. “So every night, my father would wheel my bed out and talk about the stars. He loved those myths. Knew them all by heart.”

“Will you tell me one?”

Jemma contemplated this for a moment, and then grinned. “Only if you let me tell you about Leo.”

“Oh, god, no, Jemma. I hate that god-forsaken name,” he grumbled, but he was smiling.

She shrugged. “Your loss, then.”

They settled into a comfortable silence then, spread out side by side on the grass, admiring the night sky. It was peaceful, Jemma decided, to be here with him on such a beautiful night. Undeniably peaceful.

So of course he had to go and ruin it.

“Now I know you’ve got about a thousand PhDs in biochemistry or something,” Fitz interjected into the darkness.

Jemma slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Two, but carry on.”

“Whatever. The point is, it can’t be real chemistry.”

Jemma sighed heavily, finally giving in and turning her head to look at him, his own eyes still trained on the sky, face lit softly by the moonlight. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret biting, but why is that?”

He turned to meet her gaze, smirking and drawing out the silence as if already anticipating her response. “Because it takes two people to have _real_ chemistry.”

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma rolled over a bit in the grass, finding herself with her face pressed against Fitz’s arm. Her choosing to stay there, of course, was solely on the grounds that the night was getting a bit brisk out and his arm was warm. Not because she was trying to hide a smile or because his arm was soft or because he smelled good. Not at all. (She burrowed closer.) “That is the worst joke I have ever heard,” she said, voice muffled by her current position.

“I beg to differ.”

Jemma huffed, but found herself unable to scrap together a comeback, too content using Fitz as a pillow to so much as open her mouth. She felt safe, she suddenly realized, almost an intrusive thought – she didn’t want to acknowledge it, but found she couldn’t help but fixate on it once she realized it was there. She felt safer than she ever thought she would cocooned into Fitz’s warm side. More content than she ever imagined was possible. 

As much as she would love to stay here all night, face tucked into his arm, she dared to lift her head and look at Fitz’s face above her. Did he feel this safe, this content, too? Or was she going through all of this – this attraction, this confusion – alone? But she looked at his face and her panicked spiral subsided almost immediately upon seeing his eyes lit by the light of the moon, not admiring the whole beautiful expanse of starry sky up above him, but already trained on her, sparkling in a way she thought only happened in movies.

He gave her a crooked smile and her heart skipped a beat. (Was that even scientifically possible?)

In that moment the realization just sort of hit her all at once. All this time, she’d been treating Fitz as though Lord Leopold was his default, his true self, and any other version of Fitz – the Dr. Fitz she met at her party included – was some fake, just whatever person he needed to be at the time. But she’d had it all backwards. The geeky, awkward, passionate man that she danced with at her party, and who she occasionally caught glimpses of in the lab – that was the actual Fitz, down at his core. 

Lord Leopold was still him, of course, only exaggerated and polished by Garrett. Fitz was just as cocky and full of trouble and stupidly smart jokes as this Lord Leopold, just… when the bravado was turned down a notch and he wasn’t trying to put on a show or impress anyone, the attributes she once found endlessly frustrating became, while still a little exasperating, also quirky and… kind of cute?

Lost in thought, it wasn’t until Fitz waved a hand in front of her face that she realized she had completely lost track of what he was saying. “Earth to Jemma. Come in, Jemma.”

She shook her head a bit. “What?”

“Is there something on my face?”

“Uh, no, what do you mean?”

“You just… were staring at it.”

Jemma laughed awkwardly. “Oh, I just… I got distracted.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, turning back to look up at the sky. “I’m that boring, huh?”

Her eyes widened. “No, no, not at all. You’re very interesting. No. I mean – well, you are very interesting, it’s only that just now I was – what I mean to say is that – I mean, your face is just very symmetrical and I–”

Luckily, Fitz took that moment to interrupt her spiral with a smile and a placating hand, peeking back down to look at her. “I was kidding, Simmons. But by all means, feel free to continue waxing poetic about how symmetrical my face is.”

“It’s not _that_ symmetrical,” Jemma shot back, somehow embarrassed and relieved and defensive and charmed all at once. 

But Fitz only smiled, seeing through her as he always did, but thankfully seeming to let this one slide. “Whatever you say, Princess. Whatever you say.”

Face flushed and very desperately wanting to change the subject before Fitz could reconsider and make fun of her, Jemma sat up. “Tell me another secret.”

“Okaaaaay,” Fitz said, drawing out the syllable as he moved to sit up next to her. “I haven’t danced with you since your birthday.”

Jemma shot him a deadpan look. “That’s a fact, it’s not a secret. Go fish.”

“The secret,” he said, leaning closer, “is that I still want to.”

She blinked, slightly in shock. For some reason, the only thing she could think to say was, “What, and have me step on your feet again?”

But Fitz was unfazed, merely getting to his feet and holding out a hand with a slight smile. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Your Highness.”

Jemma just stared at him for a moment, wracking her mind to see if she could come up with a single reason to say no, a single inhibition. She had never been so happy to come up empty.

She took his hand, mirroring his smile, and pulled herself up until she was standing, just a few inches in front of him. “Then lead the way, Lord Doctor Fitz.”

Forget the moon. Forget the stars. His smile lit up the whole night.


End file.
